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FOUND O U 

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I 


FOUND OUT 


CHAPTER 1. 

“ Tlie love that I hae chosen. 

I’ll therewith be content, 

' The saut sea shall be frozen. 

Before that I repent — 

Repent it shall I never, until the aay I dee.” 

The windows of Mallinger Towers struck out north, south, east 
and west, bright shaf s of light which announced to all whom it 
might concern that its master was at home, and about to hold one 
of those elegant revels with which he occasionally delighted the 
county. One room alone in all the vast pile threw out no beams 
upon the darkness, nor did it boast any light within, save what* was 
furnished by some pallid moonbeams that struggled through the 
upper part of a window from which the shutter had rotted, and so 
made partly visible the desolation of a spot that seemed to be alike 
shunned by the eye and toot of man. 

An indescribable sense of rust and disuse was in the air, unutter- 
ably bleak and forlorn looked the long vista of polished boards upon 
which no scrap of furniture rested, no sign of human occupation 
or life showed, offering a startling contrast to the lofty walls that 
were peopled, and panoplied, and most richly set forth bj'^ the dead. 
For here were whole groups of arms and armor, varying in age from 
the stone period with its s’mple knife, ax, and arrow fashioned out 
of flint, down to those equally simple, but more deadly weapons 
with whi^ science enables man the more readily to slay his 
brother, '.^ere weie no dummies, no show-pieces bought for their 
curiosity and beauty, each portion of armor had been worn, each 
arm had been used, and a mrtuoso would have spent years in the 
due appreciation of a collection that one man of taste alone had 
gathered together, and another man of genius had arranged. 

If a spy could have cut off his feet, and got a fellow spy to hook 
him to the wall, then there would be no reason why half a hundred 
men should not look out upon the deserted chamber, and overhear 
any ghostly secrets that might be flitting abroad; but as it was, no 
living thing bigger than a rat could have hid itself in the room, or 
becnl’or a second concealed from any one who entered. 

Flint, bronze, iron and steel, beautiful were the effects producrd 
by theii arrangement; each sheaf of weapons with its appropriate 
suit of armor below, however rude and faulty in some instances; 
bui reaching its maximum of perfection in the cuirass of a Eoman, 


4 


FOUND OUT. 


SO exquisitely molded to the form that when represented in sculpture, 
it is hardly possible to distinj^uish it from the nude figure. 

Here the moonlight touched an Assyrian’s shield justmicot'ps, 
there an ax- head that, thrust by a Gaul into the cleft branch of a 
growing tree, l^ecame so firmly a part of the bough, that flint and 
wood were welded together into a weapon with which he might 
defy his enemies; yonder one saw those Grecian arms with wliose 
aim and clamor Homer has filled the earth; not a nation was left 
unrepresented, not a missile discovered from former ages was absent 
from this room, the richest in historic wealih, as it was tfie most 
shunned, of the whole house. And so it happened that miracles of 
industry, beauty, and splendid memories of by-gone heroes, rusted 
unnoticed, and all the art of the man who had grouped them was 
lost; and this because a trivial thing enough had happened here 
twenty 3^ears ago— the death of a man by his own hand. 

Be sure that from beneath many a strangely fashioned helm the 
spirit of a brave man looked out and despised him as he fell, though 
his nearest and dearest may have wmpt over him as bitterly" as it he 
had been carried home from a battle in which he had lost himself 
only to secure victory to his cause. 

Ay, here a coward had slain himself, and under such circum- 
stances that perhaps he would have done worse for himself and his, 
had lie left the room alive. Only from that day forth the fencing- 
room was closed, and none were known to cross its threshold save 
ihe master of the house, who came now and again to practice alone 
that rapier play in which he had been engaged with his friend, w’^hen 
that friend had slipped the button from his ioil, and turning it 
against his own breast— died. 

The master of the house was an adept in the use of arms, and to 
this extraordinary proficiency might be due the eaise, grace and ele- 
gance of all his movements, and that look and gesture of vigorous 
alertness which the constant use of the toil and broadsword invariably 
bestow: but of late years he had somewdiat neglected the practice, 
and had not in fact entered this room for many months. 

But w hat is that faint sound j^onder but the click of a closing 
panel? And is there not a presence, a step, a flutter as of move- 
ment in the deserted place? What is this tall shape, that, shrouded' 
in black, steals from the shadow' of the wall into the moonbeams, 
and trembling, palpitating, gazes fearfully around as if in search of 
it know's not whom, in horror of it know’s not what! It shrinks as 
it reaches the center of the room, and looks down as if in search of 
the blood stain it know's to be there, then lifts its hand in an attitude 
of listening to the gbostly tapping of a branch outside the w'indow', 
then glances over its shoulder to where — see, is not that a rat steal- 
ing toward her? 

For it is a woman, and with a stifled cry, she stoops, and with 
one bare arm sweeps her draperies clear of the floor, then retreats 
b^kward to the wall, where beneath a magnificent Mascaron sword 
tlifeit seems in the very act of descending on her head, she cow’ers and 
listens with her whole soul! But there w'as only the tap, tap of the 
bough on the pane, the scurrying of invisible armies v)f rats behind the 
wainscot, the play of the -moonbeams on dinted sword, and battered 
shield, on helmets that gasped, grinned, show'ed here a dolphin’s 


FOUJ^I) OUT, 


5 


head outline, and there a pig’s snout, anon a 'pot-de-fer worn by one 
of Louis XIV. ’s soldiers, and now a Russian’s, misshapen, with the 
face of a gargoyle, and seeming to watch with a malevolent leer 
the shrinking girl whose eyes it had caught. And she was a-cold, 
a-cold — the very love-warmth within was failing her, and the courage 
that had brought her hither seemed to her superhuman now that in 
chill blood she ledected upon it, knowing that any moment the 
panel might unclose to admit her father. 

But wiience came this icy stream of wind that she suddenly felt 
play over her, and who was this that having entered by the win- 
dow, cIosclI it, and replaced the shutters, then came swiftly up the 
room, holding out impatient arms into which the girl ran as lor her 
very life? 

“Oh, Jack, the rats!” 

“ Oh, Kitty, you 

They were warm now, and safe. “ Imparadised in one another’s 
arms,” and then — tor surely a young man is a fool who does not 
put hia kisses first, and his words afterward — he gave neither him- 
self nor her a cl ance of speech tor a full minute, though of course 
it was the woman who recovered her voice first. 

“ This is very wrong. Jack!” she said, reproachfully, hiding her 
head on his shoulder to avoid a new onslaught. 

“ Very,” said Jack, “ and as delicious as it’s wrong. Oh, Kitty, 
Kitty! Dearest, sweetest, loveliest, truest, truest Kitty, to think 
that 1 have got you here in my arms, and that I have not seen you 
these two years,* and that you love me, and by to moirow— O! was 
there ever such a lucky, miserable wretch on earth?” 

“ \'es,” she said, softly, “for 1 am just such another. Even if 
you had not been going away to-morrow, 1 could not meet you 
again as 1 am meeting you here to night.” 

“ What?” he said, then pul her back, and framing her face in his 
hands, turned it so as to face the moonlight. “ And have you 
made him a promise?” 

“ When he brought me from school,” she said, gently, “ 1 prom- 
ised him that 1 would not write to you, or send you a message, or 
even speak to you, if by accident I met you outside Mai linger gates, 
and he said he would make it his business that 1 should not meet 
you inside them, and 1 am breaking the spirit of my agreement by 
meeting you here to-night.” 

“ So there was an agreement?” said Jack, swiftly. 

“ Yes. That if 1 made no attempt to see or marr^ you, 1 should 
not on the other hand be asked to marry any one else— without my 
consent.” 

“ And that no man living shall get,” said Jack, fiercely. “ But 
do you mean to say that we are to go on dying of love for each 
other indefinitely?” 

“ It is only for a year and a half,” said Kitty, a sinile breaking 
over all her face. “You would not let me finish the story— my 
promises of good behavior were only to last till 1 was twenty-oiie! 
And so you really think 1 am dying for you. Jack?” 

“ If you are not, you ought to be,” he said, giving her arm a little 
shake. “Just think of what these two years have been for roe, 
without a word or a sign from you, not even knowing your where- 


FOUND OUT. 


6 

abouls — or that fifty men might not be as crazy to marry you as 1 
am!” 

“Oh!” said Kitty, with a rueful smile; “there were no men— 
only masters, you know — and in the holidays there were not even 
those — only lather, who came twice in every year to make sure that 
you nad not found me out!” 

“ And he made all sure by swearingyou to a promise,” said Jack, 
bitterly; “ and he has his spies everywhere— that’s why I asked you 
to meet me here to-night, because there isn’t a servant in the place 
that dares put his head inside the door.” 

“ But he dares,” said Kitty, with a glance of fear at the distar ce; 
“ anil he said. Jack, and that is why I came — at least, partly — that 
it he caught you here, he w'ould treat you like any otlier burglar 
who came ciandestinel}’’ about his hou«e!” 

“Let him catch me first,’ said Jack, with vigor; then seeing 
how her head drooped, suddenly snatched her in his strong young 
arms and so crushed her that she cried out, 

“ Oh, Jack, Jack, my ball-dress!” 

lie put her down hastily; he had seen only the black cloak, felt 
only the milk-white arms round his neck; but now he found the 
moonlight insufficient and wondered that he could have satisfied 
himself with so pale a glimpse of her. 

. “ Let me look at you,” he said, and struck a match and held it 
above her in the one hand, while with the other he unfastened her 
cloak, masterfully as any bridegroom to whom has willingly come 
his bride. The clasvis yielded, the cloak slipped down, and lay in 
aheap, while out of it the girl shone like an angel in white, to 
which a hoar-frost of diamonds had clung as she descended to 
mother earth. The match went out, but the moonlight did here 
more lovely service surely as she stood silent before him, and he 
said slowly: 

“ You are altered, Kitty, and growm.” 

“ Am 1 too tall. Jack?” she said, looking up at him proudly, and 
thinking that never had girl so brave a wooer as this blue-eyed, 
sunny-haired young soldier of six feet, for a sight of whom her 
heart had ached so bitter during the past two years. 

“Am 1 loo tall. Kilty?” he said, catching that tender glow of 
love and pride in him, in her eyes. 

“ You^you are Jack.” 

“ And'you,” he said, “ oh, there is no name for you, l)ut Kitty 
—just Kitty— and ydu shall be that to no other man living so long 
as 1 am above earth,” and he crushed her once more In an embrace 
that took her breath away, and in its despair startled her with a fore- 
boding of coming evil. 

“ \Yhat is it. Jack?” she whispered. “We are true as death to 
one another — and the year and a half will soon be up— and if 1 can 
wait that little time, can not you?” 

“ You may have to wait loo long, he said, “ for w'e are ordered 
abroad on active service, and ever}’' day expect to get orders to sail. 
It was with the utmost difficulty 1 got here to-night — contiiving the 
whole plan of seeing you on my way— but 1 have seen you, Kitty, 
and come what may, we have had this one half-hour together.” 

She shivered a little as if sue felt the loss of her cloak, then slipped 


POUND OUT. 


7 


out of his arms to stoop and find it; but her eyes were dini, and it 
was Jack’s hand that drew it about her, slowly and grudgingly hid- 
ing from his eyes the exquisite shape that half a hundred men’s 
eyes would be privileged to gaze on thal night. 

As he fastened the"clasps“ beneath her chin, their ey('S met, and 
one gentle hand stole out and rested like a snow-flake on his breast. 

“ Jack,” she said, “ 1 could ‘brave anything now that 1 have seen 
5 ^ 011 , and if you do not come back, 1 shall remember you.” 

And then she kissed him, for the first time perhaps in her life of 
her own free will, and moved as it to leave him. He could not stay 
her, he knew that those precious minutes, calculated by him like a 
miser, were up, and that if, after the dressing-bell, an hour was her 
own, the ringing of the dinner one must summon her to the room 
which held her father, possibly already • suspicious of her absence. 

” Good-by, Jack!” 

‘‘ Good-by!” 

Even the Russian helm seemed to grin with less malevolence as 
it looked down upon the kiss that might be the very last in wliich 
the two pairs of beautiful young lips would meet. 


CHAPTER 11. 

And when he came to that castle, 

They were sat down to dine, 

A score o’ nobles there he saw. 

Sat drinkin at the wine.” 

Malltnger Dasiiwood happened to be the only person in the 
white drawing-room when his daughter entered it, and he came to 
meet her with as cold and polished a courtesy as if she had been his 
guest. 

She met him in his own spirit; and seen side by side the resem- 
blance between father and daughter was very striking, for both were 
hazel-eyed and brown-haired, both had that stag-like carriage of tlie 
head, and perfect symmetiy of limb that marked them out as un- 
common in a crowd, and dwarfed all other men and women to in- 
significance besi<le them— though here the likeness ceased, for in 
heart and expression there could not be found u greater contrast than 
between Mallinger and Katharine Dasiiwood. 

“ Your dress is in excellent taste,” he said, his cold eyes scanning 
her from head to foot. ‘‘You have dropped the school-girl, and 
yet you do not flaunt the heiress; but surely that is a tear upon your 
cheek? Allow me ’’—and he removed it— ‘‘ 1 would advise you in 
future to confine tliem to your pillow;' they are out of place in a 
ball-room.” 

‘‘ Like my heart,” said his daughter, as the door opened, and a 
lady came fliittering in, whose attire seemed to consist of a few ceru- 
lean clouds, loosely clasped together with pearls. 

“Ah! Mrs. Vivien!” said her host, as he went to meet her, 
“ you bring us summer skies— and this is my daughter, fresh from 
school, and dancing to-night at her first ball.” 

3lrs. Vivien opened her blue eyes with some astonishment, and as 
they slowly traveled up to tlie crown of Katharine’s stately head, 


8 


FOUND OUT. 


they said, as if she had spoken, “ Too tall!” but in her'hcart she 
thought, ” Too young, too tresh!” 

” And so your cousin would not come,” said Mr. Dashwood, as 
he left her to meet halt a dozen people who now came in, followed 
so quicivly by others that in a few minutes the twenty or so of din- 
ner guests were assembled, and the women were taking languid 
stock of one another, and all the men were looking at Katharine. 

Now there showed one uncommon feature in this company, that 
there was not a single plain or uninteresting person in it; for Dash- 
wood asked his guests to please himself, and was himself enter- 
tained by the beauty, wit and agreeahilily with which he furnished 
his house for the time being. • 

It was his habit to send with each invitation a printed menu of tne 
proposed guests, so that all such awkward accidents as the meeting 
of a lady with a former admirer, or of a gentleman with a lady who 
was only viceregent of his affections, were entirely averted; and an 
invitation from royalty was not coveted so eagerly as one that 
cairied its cachet of beauty to every woman who received it. 

The men might be wits if they pleased, so might the women; but 
intellect without good looks was rigorously excluded, perhaps be- 
cause so large a portion of the wit was furnished by the master of 
the house himself. 

The men of the county came eagerly when invited by Dashwood 
— cane to look, to sigh, to get a whole liberal education from the 
conleniplation of such charms as they had never dreamed of; and 
the best-looking women of the county, however seldom asked, came 
also, only to retire with secret tears, and a deadly hatred for the 
milliners who had betrayed them. 

They had no stones to sling at the heads of these smart people, 
who all spoke affectionately of their absent lords, and to every one 
of whom had befallen that accident from which even the most fash- 
ionable fine lady is not exempt— viz., a baby; they did not know 
their inner lives, but could onl}'’ gauge them by the perfection of 
their clothes, which they found immortal. 

” Do we wait for any one?” said Lady Becky Selwyn, looking up 
at her host, ” and we are all so hungry!” 

” Mr. B is not here,” said Dashwood, ” we will give him one 

minute more of grace — in which I may smell your roses,” he 
added, and stooped to the yellow cluster that adorned the breast of 
her white velvet gown. 

” Mr. B and Mr. Velasquez,” announced the butler from the 

door, and Malliuger Dashwood looked up to see the great man ap- 
proaching, with a tar younger and taller man beside him, at sight of 
whom he started violently, and put out his hand as if to wave him 
back, but the next moment he had met and welcomed the pair. 

“My secretary, Mr. Velasquez,” the great man said; ‘‘though 
if he had introduced him as one of his secretaries, he would have 
spoken nearer the truth. But when the host moved to introduce 
the two men to his daughter, it was the turn of Mr. Velasquez to 
start, to change color, as his hand touched hers, while something 
looked at her out of his black eyes that she never forgot, and never 
understood until— until— 

” Dinner is served,” said the butler; and the great man, on the 


9 


FOUJSTD QUT. 

tiptoe of ecstasy at having so many pretty souls on which to gaze, 
offered Katharine his arm, and strutted out with her, resolved that, 
queen and country notwithstanding, he would throw statesmanship 
to the dogs, and remain here a whole week. 

]\Ir. Velasquez fell to the lot of Mrs. Vivien, and proved himself 
unusually quiet for a young man of such extraordinary personal 
attractions. 

To the richness, color and grace given by Southern blood, he 
united the splendid stature and build of the best style of English- 
man; his manners and gestures too were thoroughly British, but not 
so the sadness of his eyes and a curious quietude of features, that 
to close observers suggested a volcano of slumbering passion be- 
neath. 

“ A browm beamy,” said Mrs. Vivien, her eyes following his to 
Katharine, who sat opposite her father at the middle of the long 
oval table. 

” No, a hazel one, 1 think,” he said, ” she is so extremely fair. 
She is Mr. Dash wood’s only daughter?” 

” Yes, and his heiress, it she marries with his consent. But he is 
evidently in no hurry, for there is not a man here he would accept 
as a son-in-law.” 

” No,” said Mr. Velasquez, looking round, “ they all seem more 
or less attached.” 

” 1 have never met you in society,” said Mrs. Vivien, flashing a 
pair of scornful turquois eyes on the insensibility of his black 
velvet ones, ” so how do you know how we live — nous autresf-' 

‘‘ Private secretaries have opportunities,” he said; then paused 
and looked, as if by accident, at a man opposite who wms regarding 
Mrs. Vivien’s animated manner with very decided dissatisfaction. 

‘‘ Ah! poor Noll!” she said, lightly, “'but he is beginning to tire 
me. Mallinger made a mistake in asking us here together. It is 
our future admirers, not our present ones, who should be asked to 
meet us!” 

‘Is there a single husband \\Qve, ‘parhazurd?’' said Mr. Velas- 
quez, looking round. 

But Mrs. Vivien at that moment made Noll, otherwise Lord Oli- 
ver, happy by turning her back upon Mr. Velasquez and concerning 
herself solely with her dinner. 


CHAPTER 111. 

“ Shyning was the painted ha’ 

Wi’ gladsuni torches bricht, s 

Full twenty gowden dames sate there 
And ilk ane by a knicht: 

Wi’ music cheer 
To please the ear, 

Wlien bewtie pleased the sicht.” 

The host and the private secretary did not approach each other 
until the gentlemen left the dinner for the ball-room, and then it 
was at once visible that they were the. two. handsomest men in it, 
though a difference of tive-and-twenty years lay between I hcin. 

Their rapprochement was in so far curious that each waited for the 



10 FOUiiD OUT. 

Other to speak, and over the eyesw both an invisible curtain seemed 
suddenly drawn, leaving them blank of speculation, or even natural 
inquiry as they looked at each other. 

You remind me of some one 1 once knew, Mr. Velasquez,” 
said his host, atter a moment or two of silence, in which there was 
yet no hesitation 

“A lady?” said Velasquez. 

” A lady. She lived in this neighborhood for many years—” 

‘‘And her name?” said Velasquez, his somber eyes rayless as 
pools of ink. 

“ Mrs. Fitzhugh, the wife of my friend.” 

“I have heard the story,” said Mr. Velasquez; and then Mr. 
Dash wood’s duties took him away, and in a few minutes the dance 
had begun. 

Perhaps those present numbered a hundred souls, all told — all 
pleasant to the eye, all Ijent om dancing the old year out and the 
new year in, and all as heathenishly oblivious to the sins of the 
past year, as they were ready to commit them over again in the com- 
ing one. 

All save two persons, one of whom was dancing with Katharine; 
for seeing him quite alone, she had asked it she should find hirn a 
partner? Whereupon he had taken her, and Mallinger Dash wood 

had smiled, then at the first opportunity asked Mr. B where he 

had picked up his secretary. 

He found the great man happy, his eagle eye roving from charm 
to chaim, and wishing that like the census he could embrace them 
all, and only in the interval of his spasms of admiration could be 
extracted any information as to Mr. Velasquez. 

‘‘ Yes— yes, a handsome fellow— and 1 know that you like hand- 
some fellows; but look at that woman’s back— and this one’s 
shoulders — and there’s an arm I where did 1 pick him up? Oh! he’s 
a 2 '^rotege of my wife — and he does light work tor me— his parents 
are dead — look at that goddess in amber! Introduce me, tor Heav- 
en’s sak(! — and if her husband isn’t a peer. I’ll make him one!” 

” But she must make you happy first,” said Mr. Dashwood with 
a slight smile, as he moved away; and having effected the introduc- 
tion, glanced cynically around on an assemblage out of which he 
would only have owned one as daughter, and not one as wile. 

Not that there was a woman present that the most tight-laced dow- 
ager in society could have presumed to flout, or refuse to introduce 
to her young daughters. No reckless Maenad flung Her arms aloft 
here, no Bacchanal with roving glances swam in the dance; the 
only diffe^nce between this ball-room (apart from its planning) and 
any other in the county, lay in the loveliness of the women, and the 
perfection of their adorning; but this seemed a great deal to the 
handsome outsiders present that night. 

Perhaps the room helped them — for Mallinger Dashwood had too 
keen a perception of the beauty of a woman’s skin to offer it a light 
background, and so gave it a foil in a wainscoting of black oak to 
the height of twenty feet; but set the wax lights Bomej\diat lov,', 
leaving such curious eyes as could raise themselves so high, to lol 
low the friskings of those gods or goddesses who, whether on the 


FOUND , OUT. 11 

upper walls or ceiling, seemed never tb liave frisired enough for their 
own and lovers’ content. 

Pew men lifted their e3^es so high, the flesh and blood charms be- 
low contented them so well; but to-niglit a girl looked up, and her 
partner’s ayes followed, for already it seemed natural to him to note 
her every word and glance, just as he and she seemed the only pair 
possible to each other out of the whole room. 

The woman said, with a sneer, that she danced with him because, 
save her father, there was not another man present by whom her 
stature would not look uncoulli; but Katharine had scarcely no- 
ticed her partner’s looks, she had only felt drawn to him by one of 
those curious instincts of natural affinity, of like toward like, that 
reveals itself when two persons meet in the midst of surroundings 
that in each of them ecpnilly arouse mistrust or fear. 

“ The ceiling is beautiful,” said ]\lr. Velasquez, ” but Wic room 
ahpve it must be more beautiful still.” 

She started violently, and looked at him with a lightning dread, 
suspicion, and tremor all in one. In some subtle way she felt him 
to understand — so that for a minute the two stood gazing at each 
other, with an expression curiously out of place in the bali-room, 
and offering a target to the eyes and words of the lookers-on. 

” Are your thoughts of heaven?” said a woman’s voice beside 
Mallinger, and the tap of a flower fell on his arm, ” for surel}'- the 
young pair Amu are watching have found it!” 

” No,” said her host, ” I was thinking at that moment of Provi- 
dence— how it brings all things to those who wait — even revenge. 
And, as case in point, see this lace flounce in tatters; and now Mrs. 
Vivien is happy — for Providence has destroyed the only stumbling- 
block to her being the best dressed woman in the room.” 

” Next to your daughter,” said Lady Alice, ruefully. “ Dear 
Dashwood,'it you must have her here to eclipse us all, why on 
earth could you not leave her to the mercies of a country dress- 
maker? All our men are in love with her, but not one of them dare 
go near her for fear of offending us!” 

“ There is safety in numbers,” said Mallinger, carelessly. 

” But not with a Mr. Velasquez,” said Lady Alice, gathering her 
tatters around her preparatory to flight. ” Can’t you see that on 
both sides it is a case of love at first sight?” 

” Is it?” said Dashwood, and smiled as the lady fluttered away 
— then his face changed, an extraordinary expression playing upon 
it, but inscrutable to the eyes that at intervals had intently watched 
him throughout the evening. 


CHAPTER IV, 

The sword Avas sharp, and sore did bite 
I tell yon in certain; 

To the heart he did him smite ” 

When Mr. Dashwood went next morning an noiir or so after 
breakfast to look tor his guests, he found them with one consent in 
the picture-gallery, engaged in the noble pursuit of a ” lly-hunt.” 
The great man himself was standing on a chair, and puffing hia 


12 FOUi!^D OUT. 

cheeks out in his efiorts to keep aloft a descending scrap of white| 
paper, the while he steadied himself by the waist of the near- 
est lady, while the rest of the men and women (^with two ex- 
ceptions), were rushing hither and tnithe'r, pell-mell, their bodies 
bent bacWard and upward, blowing like cherubs toward the de- 
scending atoms that not ill resembled snow, and being beaten back- 
ward by those vigorous breaths from below, retreated only to flutter 
down again on the heads and faces of the struggling host. 

Lord ]S oil’s head had just met Laciy Becky’s in a sounding crack 
that eclipsed the de(;per anguish of Lord Dolly, whose toes had just 
been danced upon by the finest and heaviest romper present; Jack 
St. Leger had nearly got his teeth knocked out by the agile bound 
of a portly Venus just beneath his chin. The great man at this mo- 
ment overbalanced himself, but with the grace of second childhood 
tumbled plump into a beauty’s arms; two lovers had shown such 
heartless indifference to each other’s bruises, that already a change 
of cicisbeo floated in the lady’s mind; and all were growing hot and 
disheveled (however freely Hogarth’s line of beauty might be dis- 
played) when a cool, inquiring voice was heard to say, “ Is this a 
new intellectual amusement?” and the fly-calchers brought their 
chins down with a haste that nearly dislocated them. 

“ It is a fly-hunt,” said Mrs. Vivien, who had been giving only 
the faintest possible puffs upward, ” an invention of my own, and 
splendid exercise ” — she looked sweetly round on the flushed coun- 
tenances, the disordered tresses of her dearest friends, as they threw 
themselves down on the nearest chairs — ” and we are all rather hot 
— 1 fear we have made a good deal of noise.” 

She was not in the least hot herself, and had not a curl out of 
place, and Mallinger Dashwood smiled cynicrdly as he glanced at 
her, then at the only other cool woman in the room — his daughter. 
She was standing at a further window, looking out, and with her 
was Mr. Velasquez. Long ago they had turned their backs on tiie 
vulgar romp, and now were gazing down at a long avenue that in 
the night had become so beautifully frosted over ^with snow, that 
as one gazed, one almost expected an invisible horn to sound, and 
to see a multitude of fairies and merrymen sweep up the long ar- 
cade, vanishing away like morning dew as they neared the house! 

” The secretary’s duties are light,” said Mrs. Vivien, glancing at 
the pair by the window. 

“And your rule is heavy,” said her host, as his eyes traveled 
from one distressed group of fly-catchers to another. 

‘‘ Oh! I have a better amusement for the evening,” she said air- 
11}% ” it does not make you so hot, and it is much more amusing.” 

‘‘ What is that?” said Lord Dolly, who sat at her elbow, and 
punished his face with a red silk handKerchief. 

” You light a candle,” said Mrs. Vivien, ” and put it on a table. 
Then you go tour paces away from the candle and have your e3a>s 
bandaged. Then you go straight ahead and blow the candle out.” 

” But do you?” said Lord Dolly. 

^ ‘‘ 1 never knew but one person who did,” said Mrs. Vivien, pla- 
cidly, ” and she was a woman — and of course peeped — but if we all 
try to-night, somebody may be honestly lucky!” 

‘‘No more waste of breath for me/’ said Lord Dolly, piously, 


FOUND OUT, 


13 

**and 1 think Miss Dashwood’s very wise,” he added, ‘‘to keep 
out of it.” 

” Perhaps she preferred Mr. Velasquez’s sighs to his pufis,” said 
Mrs. Vivien languidly, then turned her back on Lord Dolly, as 
another man approached. 

His collar was limp, he too was flourishing a handkerchief like a 
towel, and he had an exhausted air as he sunk down beside her. 

” 1 know a better game than that,” he said, between gasps; 
‘‘ you all shut your eyes and draw a pig — then compare your pigs 
afterward — and it’s more fun, and less loss of breath!” 

” That will suit some of these people better,” said Mrs. Vivien, 
glancing round on the more or less prostrate charms scattered 
through the room, ‘‘ meanwhile we must amuse ourselves. Go and 
tell Mr. Dashwood I want to see that splendid collection of armor 
he has got in the lencing-room.” 

Lord Dolly stared, but went, and had to go pretty far, as Mr. 
Dashwood had just reached the isolated couple by the window, and 
was politely asking them if they did not feel the cold. Neither had 
time to answer before Lord Dolly came up, and delivered his mes 
sage verbatim. 

‘‘ To be sure,” said Mallinger Dashwood, but without turning, 
and his eyes full on Mr. Velasquez. 

If he had been rooking at his daughter, if her dress even had 
touched him, he must have seen the change, or felt the shock that 
thrilled her; but he saw only Velasquez, who stood as one to whom 
his host’s words had no concern, and in another moment Dashwood 
had turned on his heel, and rejoined Mrs. Vivien. 

‘‘ It is too cold to go out,” she said, with a sarcastic glance at 
the ruffled female plumage around her, ” and 1 have heard so much 
about your beautiful armor — will you lake us to see it?” 

Some of those who heard her, held their breath at her audacity — 
was she not aware that this was the one closed chamber in the 
house, and to which reference was profoundly shunned? 

For a moment Mrs. Viven’s and Mallinger Dashwood’s eyes met 
like flint and steel; then with a backward look at the young pair 
by the window, and with an odd gesture that combined impatience 
and invitation, he said: 

‘‘ Come.” 

And they did come, flashing after him like a gay company of 
paroquets, rejoicing in the coolness that met them as they traversed 
endless corridors, coming at last to a heavily molded door, of 
which the key was in the host’s pocket. 

“ So you come here yourself sometimes,” said Lady Becky as he 
produced it, in her clear penetrating voice. 

” To te sure, why not? 1 have nothing to fear;” but some one 
within earshot shuddered as he stepped over the threshold, tor in 
the clear morning light would not those late footprints in the dust 
show visibly, or perchance a shutter half drawn betray the visitor 
of overnight. 

But the ladies’ whisking skirts, as they spread through the room, 
quickly obliterated those guilty tracer, and Katharine dared to 
breathe when Lord Oliver at the one end, and Mr, Velasquez at the 


14 FOUND OUT. 

other opened the shutters, and let in a flood of light on the desolate, 
lovely room. , . 

In the exclamations of delight that rose like a gently increasing 
storm, the curiosity of i\Ir. Velasquez, as to the fastenings, position 
and surroundings of the window he had just unshuttered were un- 
observed; even Katharine stood unnoticed, as her eyes rested on 
the spot were yesternight two lovers liad possibly spoken their last 
good-by, and where now a crowd of fine ladies trooped and 
screamed, suspecting rats, and furtively searching for that death- 
stain which, on some portion of the polished boards, was known to 
0 xist 

Mrs. Vivien did not hunt; she had been intently watching Dash- 
wood’s face ever since she enlei»ed, and presently approached him, 

“ Where is itV” she said. 

“ What?” questioned her host. 

“ The blood-slain— for 1 suppose there was one?” 

” Here,” said Mallinger Dashwood; but it was at Mr. Velasquez 
that he looked, as he moved to the center of the room. 

All gathered round and peeped, some of the men over the 
women’s shoulders, Mr. Velasquez scarcely so long as the rest; 
then first one- woman shivered, then another, and some with fear 
and some with a natural revulsion of cold, after the violent heat 
into which the}'’ had romped themselves, so that within three min- 
utes the room was empty; but though Mr. Dashwood locked the 
door and replaced the key, it somehow happened, in the general 
scrimmage, that the barring and shuttering of the two great win- 
dows was forgotten. 


CHAPTER V 

“ To ride, to run, to rant, to roar, 

To always spend and never spare; 

I wot, an’ lie were the king himsel. 

Of gold and fee he mot be bare.” 

“For Heaven’s sake, say something amusing!” said Mrs. Viv- 
ien, addressing indifferently the dozen or so of men and women 
who sat round the drawing-room fire one evening a couple of hours 
after dinner. 

”1 will,” said Lord Dolly, opening his mouth instantly. “A 
man threw a stone at a she wolf, and hit his mother-in-law, where- 
upon he remarked, ‘ Not so bad I’ This comes direct to us from the 
ancients.” 

” Listen,” said Lady Becky, when some laughter had subsided, 
” 1 will tell you something too. The widow of a fireworks-maker 
wished to place a suitable epitaph on his tomb,- and haunted the 
surrounding church-yards in search of a hint. She found at last an 
inscription above an eminent sculptor that exactly suited her taste, 
and with a trifling alteration caused it to be inscribed on the mar- 
ble. And this is how it ran: ‘ He has gone to a place where alone 
his works can be excelled.’ ” 

” Not so good as mother-in-law,” said Major Beaumont, holding 
his head in both hands in his effort to extract an idea, ” but 1 know 
a story—” 


FOUKD OUT. 


15 


“ Without middle, be^jinninff, or tail!” said Mrs. Vivien, cutting 
him short, “4)ut there is one story 1 should like to hear ’’—she 
glanced hastily round as if to make suie that no one present was 
concerned in it — ” only unluckily there’s not a soul here who 
knows it!” 

” What is the story?” said the only outsider present, a man who 
had driven twenty miles to dine and stay the night, and who felt 
himself well rewarded lor his trouble. 

‘‘Are you not placing billiards with the rest?” said Mrs. Viv- 
ien, dropping her cold eyes on him as he sat in the background; 
‘‘ but since you live in the neighborhood you may know all about it 
— what happened in the fencing-room here, and why our host 
shuns it?” 

‘‘ Yes, 1 Know it,” said Geoffrey Langworthy, slowly, ” but it is 
not a pretty tale, and you, would not thank me tor telling it you. 
Besides, Dash v\ ood might come in at any moment — or his daughter. ” 

“ She has gone to bed with a headache,” said Mrs. Vivien, ‘‘ and 
no earthly powder would bring him out of the billiard-room before 
midnight. It is now just eleven— and we are all waiting!” she add- 
ed, as she put both arms comfortabl}'^ behind her head. 

The other wmmen had also composed themselves to listen, and 
the fire of bright eyes turned upon him might have discomposed a 
more accomplished man of the world than Geoflirey. 

” Cheer up, old chap!” said Lord Noll, encouragingly, “ they’ll 
all be asleep in two minutes — they only want to get a btauty-sleep 
for a change!” 

“‘But where ami to begin?” said Mr. Langworthy, helplessly; 
” with the old friendship between the two men, or wdth what hap- 
pened on a certain day upstairs?” 

‘‘Begin from the very beginning,” said Mrs. Vivien, turning 
upon him compelling eyes that scattered his wits, then forced him 
to pick them up again on the spot. 

‘‘ They were old friends and neighbors,” began Mr. Langworthy, 
feebly, ” had been at school together, teen life together, traveled 
everywhere in each other’s company, and at last came home to set- 
tle down only a few miles apart— only one brought home a wife.” 

‘‘His name?” said Lady Becky. 

‘‘Fitzhugh.” 

‘‘ Ah!” she said, slowly, ” 1 remember part of the story now— 
goon.” 

” She was very lovely and of Spanish blood, and the friendship 
between the two men w^as as unbroken as ever; but it w^as well 
known that Mrs. Fitzhugh did all in her power to keep them apart, 
and that she would neither visit Mallinger Dashwmod in his own 
house, nor receive him in her husband’s.” 

Mr. Langworthy turned with a start, for some one had entered; 
but ft was only Mr. Velasquez, who took up an attitude of listen- 
ing a little way off, leaning his elbow against a tall majolica jar, 
evincing no curiosity in the tale. 

‘‘ 1 don’t like talking about a fellow in his own house,” broke 
out Langworthy abruptly; ” but there is nothing but good to bo 
told of this one in the story, and he behaved splendidly all through 
— as everybody thought, excepting Mrs. Fitzhugh.’* 


16 


FOUND OUT. 


“ But that comes later,” said Mrs. Vivien, impatiently, ” you left 
off where Mrs. Fitzlmgh came home, and tried to nlltke the men 
quarrel— she couldn’t have been a very wonderful woman, or she 
would have done it. ” 

“ At any rate she did not separate them,” said Geoffrey, ‘‘ they 
were always together, and ran neck and-neck in their sports and ex- 
penses, though Fitzhugh was on his last legs of credit, and Dash- 
wood as wealthy as he is now. They were still known as the two 
handsomest men in the county, and with the two handsomest wives, 
for within three years of Fitzhugh ’s marriage, Dashwood himself 
married; only there was this difference in tlieir wives — that while 
Fitzhugh w'as known to adore his. Dash wood’s wife was known 
to publicly adore him, and welcomed his friends just as cordially as 
Mrs. Fitzhugh went out of her wa}’’ to avoid and dissever them 
from her husband. 

” Oddly enough the two women became friends and met often, 
but always abroad, or at the house of Fitzhugh; and both were so 
lovely that men would ride fifty miles to see in the same ball-room 
the two who went by the names of Darkness and Light.” 

” Katharine Dashwood is dark,” said Mrs. Vivien, abruptly, 
“ was her mother the Daikness?” 

” Miss Dashwood is very fair,” said Mr. Langworthy, imper- 
turbably; ” only her hair and eyes lean to darkness— and her mother 
was fairer still, with blue eyes and chestnut hair, while Mrs. Fitz- 
hugh had the coloring of— of— ” he glanced around as if for in- 
spiration, and his eyes fell on a living illustration of his thought — 
” of Mr. Velasquez.” he said, almost unconsciously. 

” Then she must have been very beautiful,” said the greatest lady 
present, with all the insolence of her lank, and looking at the young 
man; ” and is Mr. Velasquez by chance — a relation?” 

But as Mr. Velasquez neither stirred nor spoke, the halting story 
was again begun, though with considerable doubt as to the point 
from which it started. 

‘‘But the dark beauty always cut the fair one out, and some peo- 
ple said that one of the husbands did not like it; but Dashwood had 
been married scarcely a year when all rivalries between the two 
women were over, and the end came.” 

‘‘And one woman or the other was at the bottom of it!” said 
Lady Becky. 

” No one was ever sure of it,” said the story-teller, nervously, 
and at once'thrown out of his bearings; ” women don’t always tell 
the truth, you know, when they nre mad with grief.” 

‘‘ Or at any other time?” said Lord Dolly, with an air of inquiry. 

“ We are getting the story in shreds and tatters,” cried Mrs. 
Vivien, angrily, ‘‘ will emryhody hold his tongue till it is told?’’ 

The men felt the insult inflicted by Mrs. Vivien’s masculine pro- 
noun, but the women resolved to deserve the honor, and buttoned 
their lips up tight, so that the story now went on almost undisturbed 
to its close. 

“ The end came,” said Mr. Langworthy (girding up his loins to 
the task), ‘‘ when Fitzhugh came over one morning to see Dash 
wood, and being pressed by his host to remain, he consented, then 
wrote a letter to his wife accounting for his absence, and this letter 


FOUND OUT. 


17 

was duly sent and delivered. Now Dashwood had a passion foj- all 
exercises of the sword, and would spend hours in the fencing-room 
practicing alone; and so angry was he at interruption that no one 
had the right of entree to it save his friend Fitzhugh, and his butler. 

“ It was to this room that the two friends adjourned later, and 
hither the butlei presently brought a letter addressed to his master. 

“ lie found the two gentlemen fencing, and apparently not in 
the best of humors; indeed, their play struck him as so dangerous 
that he was glad to stop it, and at the first pause, presented the let- 
ter and retired, but only to the other side of the door, which was 
thick. 

“ For a while he heard nothing, then only the murmur of voices, 
then something louder; and at last a cry in his master’s voice that 
made him rush in, to see Fitzhugh in the act of plunging a rapier 
through his breast, and sink backward to the floor. 

“ Even in that moment of horror, the man thought he observed a 
scrap of while close to the rapier’s hilt, but when he returned liom 
the search for help on which his master sent him, the rapier was clean, 
save of blood, and only an open letter lay beside him. He picked 
it up, and at the inquest the letter was produced.” 

” A love-lelter from his wife to his friend, probably,” said Lady 
Alice, cynically. 

” No— a letter fiom Dashwood’s banker.” 

” Could any one prove that the letter Mr. Dashwood received, 
and the letter produced, were one and the same?” said Mr. Velas- 
quez, quietly. 

” Why, what further proof would you have?” said Langwortby, 
wheeling round to look at the young man, ‘‘a messenger from a 
bank brought it, the butler delivered it, and the very same letter 
and envehme were found by Fitzhugh— besides, his own wife had 
cashed the check 1” 

” But the butler spoke of something white — probably some scrap 
of paper — on his rapier,” said Mr. Velasquez, in the same quiet 
tone; “may not two letters on totally dilterent subjects have got 
mixed on that fatal occasion?” 

” There was never any such question of such an accident,” said 
j\Ir. Langworthy, coldly, ” nor could even the idea occur to any 
sane man. Circumstantial evidence so entirely supported that of 
iMr. Dashwood at the inquest that, had he given any other, he must 
have been proven a liar, fie gave that evidence reluctantly enough, 
but without the slightest hesitation, to the following effect: 

” On the day in question Fitzhugh had ridden over to see him, 
soon after breakfast, and in the course of the morning they had a 
conversation about a small piece of land Fitzhugh wished to sell, 
and that he wished to buy; and having agreed as to terms, he wrote 
a check for the amount and gave it to his friend, asking him to stay 
and dine with him that evening. Mis. Dashwood being then ill up- 
stairs, ^and in some danger, from a chill she had taken after her 
confinement. 

“Fitzhugh assented, but said he must write to his wife not to 
expect him home, and he w^ent into the library for that purpose, 
whither presently Dashwood followed him, and the letter being 


18 


FOUND OUT. 


ready, a servant was rung for, and a mounted messenger dispatched 
wicli it, the time being about half-past one o’clock. 

“ The.y then lunched together and went to the stables, afterward 
playing billiards, and finally went to the fencing-room, where they 
had been practicing rapier play for about half an hour, when the 
butler brought him a letter from the manager of his bank, who 
wrote that a check for a very large amount signed by Mr. Dash wood 
had been presented by Mrs. Fitzhugh, and cashed within the last 
hour, but after her departure, something unusual about the signature 
attracted the cashier’s attention, and he had come to him with the 
check, which was for £3000. The check handed to Fitzhugh that 
morning in payment of the piece of land w’as £300 (the exact price 
that had, for some weeks past, been placed on it by the seller), and 
Mr. Dashwood’s first impression was that he had made some mis* 
take in the figures in filling in the check; and he at once handed the 
letter to Fitzhugh, asking him at the same time it he had. looked at 
the check betore inclosing it in the note he had sent to his wife.” 

Mr. Langworthy paused, and a quick breath ran like a sigh round 
the listening circle, while into Mr. Velasquez’s eyes leaped a fire 
that made a curious contrast with the quietude of his manner, as he 
said: 

“ Does this account rest solely on Mr. Dashwood’s testimony?” 

” It does,” said Mr. Langw^orthy. “ On the testimony of a man 
of unblemished honor, and whose every word, as 1 have before said, 
is substantiated by facts.” 

” If the dead could speak, they might possibly tell a different 
tale,” said Mr. Velasquez, tranquilly. 

” I doubt it,” said Geoffrey, ” and as Mr. Dashwood’s guest, you 
would do well to keep such doubts to yourself.” 

‘‘1 am not his guest,” replied the young man, quietly; ‘‘1 am 

here as Mr. If ’s servant, and provided for like any other of 

his goods and chattels.” 

‘‘ Pretty cool, that, for a man w^ho aspires to Mr. Dashwood’s 
most valuable belonging!” whispered Lady Becky, in an audible 
aside to Lord Oliver. 

” Why will you talk?” cried Mrs. Vivien, impatiently, ” we shall 
have Dash wood himself walking in before the tale is half over! 
What did Fitzhugh say when he confronted him with the letter?” 

” At first he said it was a mistake— then confessed that being on 
the verge of ruin, the thought had struck him as he was inclosing 
the check to his wife to substitute tor it another, and Dashwood’s 
check-book lying beside him, he had torn one out, and in a moment 
of madness had filled it in and forged the signature, then endorsing 
the check in his own handwriting, dispatched it to his wife with a 
rcapiest that she would drive at once to the bank and get it cashed. 
He had not expected discovery to come so soon; but now it was 
here, he threw himself on his friend’s mercy, promising to refund 
the money it Dashwuod would acknowledge the signature to be his 
own.” 

A slight sound in the background made the ladies start and look 
round to see ]\lr. Velasquez, pale, with flaming eyes, his lofty fi<T- 
ure towering above them all in the rage and passion that swelled 
him. 


FOUND OUT. 


10 


“ A Fitzhuph bc" like a craven to a Dash wood!” he said, in low 
intense tones before which the women shrunk— “was ever there 
such a clumsil3'’ concocted, preposterous tale?” 

“ Pray, sir,” said IMr. Laugworlliy, on looking round, “ are you 
a relation?” 

“ Perhaps,” said Mr. Velasquez carelessly; “ but I should like to 
hear the end of this romance. After Mr. Fitzhuj^h had gone down 
on his knees to Mr. Dashwood, what happened?” 

“ What happened was witnessed by the butler,” said Mr. Lang- 
worthy, turning his back on the )’-oung man; “ what. went before 
occupied a very few moments. As Dashwood lor a moment hesi- 
tated, appalled at his friend’s guilt, Fitzhugh suddenly slipped the 
button from his foil, and ran himself through the hearb falling 
backward at the very momenf that the servant rushed in', startled 
at the cry Dashwood hud uttered, when too late he perceived Fitz- 
hugh's intention.” 

“But the man who would rather die than face dishonor was 
scarcely the man to forge hie friend’s name,” said Mrs. Vivien, 
thoughtfully; “ it is a curious story, and the only explanation of it 
is — a woman. How did Mrs. Fitzhugh take it?” she added, 
abruptly. 

“ When they came to tell her that he was dead, they found her 
sitting beside a table on which was thrown down in a heap a mass 
of bank-notes and gold, at which she seemed to look in loathing, as 
they entered. 

“ When they told her the truth, she said, ‘ It was well for him to 
die, since he could tahe alms from his enemy!’ and those around 
said her face was not half so terrible then, as when, two hours I'c- 
fore, she had returned from that errand which her husband had 
begged of her to undertake. 

“ Then even as she spoke— they said — her face changed, and she 
threw up her arms, called upon him as if she knew he lived to 
answer, then like a madwoman fled out, and across the whole tliree 
miles of country till she reached the Towers, and all stood back as 
she went straight to the fencing-room where her husband still lay, 
and Dashwood still stood, in his soul lamenting that he had not 
been quicker with the word and look of forgiveness that might have 
saved his friend’s life,” 

Mr. Velasquez laughed, and Mr. Langw'orthy swmre beneath his 
breath. 

“ Go on,” said Mrs. Vivien, imperiously. 

“ She threw herself down by that scarcely cold body and implored 
him to speak to her, to forgive her for being angry with him; then, 
as she realized that he was dead, rose up and raved like a mad- 
woman at Dashwood, accusing him of having murdered his friend; 
then when they show'ed her the poor hand already stiffened on the 
rapier as he lay, she cried out that Dashwood had worked upon 
him by some lies or devilish arts, and added certain wild accusa- 
tions that no one heeded, and which in truth reflected but little 
credit on herself.” 

“ What were the accusations?” said Mr. Velasquez and Mrs. 
Vivien, simultaneously. z 

“ She accused him of having made love to her,” said Geodrey, 


20 


FOUlirD OUT. 


dryly, “ both before nnd since her marriage — particularly since. 
She said he had himself contrived to get the check forged, and that 
poor as her liusband was he would have died rather than accept 
charity from Dash wood. ” 

“ And she spoke the truth,” said Velasquez. 

“ They were the ravings of a madwoman,” went on Langworthy, 
in a matter-of-fact tone, “crazed by her loss, and probably were 
repented as soon as uttered; for soon she went away quietly with 
her dead, and when he was buried — and in Christian ground, for 
the verdict was mercifully brought in as death through misadvent- 
ure— she departed with her only child, a son, and has not been 
heard of since. Fitzhugh Court was mortgaged to its last acre, 
and passed at once into other hands; but to the ver}’^ end Dashwood 
tried to help the deluded woman; and even when his wife lay dead 
in the house, for her illness had terminated fatally, he repeatedly 
sought an interview with Mrs. Fitzhugh, which was invariably and 
violently denied. So there the story ends,” added Mr, Langwortby, 
in a tone of relief, “ and I've told it about as badly as a tale could 
be told.” 

“ No, it doesn’t end there,” said Lady Becky, sharply; “ there is 
something behind it all— something that will come out one of these 
days, or 1 am much mistaken.” 

“ I think it will,” said Mr. Velasquez, quietly. 

“ What?” said a voice not far distant, and the master of the 
house advanced into the charmed circle that sat by the fireside, but 
which broke up hastily at his approach. 

“ Oh, nothing! we have only been telling stories,” said Mrs. 
Vivien, stifling a yawn, “and we are all ready for bed;” and in 
another minute, like a broken siring of bright-colored beads, the 
ladies had passed up the staircase and out of sight. 


CHAPTER VI. 

The lintie is a bonnie bird, 

And often flees frae off its nest; 

Sae all the woi-ld may plainly see 
They’re fai* awa’ that I love best.” 

“ Where is Mr. B ?” said the master of Mallinger Towers, 

as he glanced round the breakfast-table next morning, finding 
enough beauty there to excuse the absence of one who had never 
contributed so much to the good looks as to the wit of the com- 
pany. 

Every one looked at Mr. Velasquez, whose office was supposed to 
be a sinecure; but he continued his conversation with Katharine, as 
if he and she were Ute-d-tMe on a desert island. 

“ 1 beg pardon, sir,” said the butler, advancing, “ but Mr. B 

went out early this morning, and found a deal of young women in 
the neighborhood who want their souls saved— and he’s praying 
with them now, and has sent word that if he’s very deeply engaged 
he may not be home to-night.” 

A smile ran round the table, and Lady Becky said, with an inno- 
cent air; 


POUND OUT. 21 

“ Did you not know that he was explorinoj the beauties of the 
nei,e:hl)orhood? He has wearied of Gin's already!" 

" And how about the business of liis counti-} ?" said Lord Dolly. 

" Oh! it can wait!" said Lady Becky, " his dispatch-boxes are in ' 
Ids dressing-room— his Sovereign can wait, his country go to peidi- 
tion, but meanwhile he— and his secretary "—she added, softly, 

" enjoy themselves!" 

"The object for which man was born." said Mallinger Dash- 
wood, " and the better to carry it out, 1 have devised a new amuse- 
ment for this evening. The mere is frozen, and w^e will hold a bal 
onasque there instead of in the house." 

" Delightful!" cried the women who could skate, and to whom 
mask and domino meant an intrigue. 

" But we are too small a party to practice deceptions among our- 
selves," said Lady Becky; "and pray, w^here are the masks and 
dondnos?" 

“ Oh! 1 have bidden the guests," said the host, carelessly, " and 
you will all find your war-paint in your dressing-rooms, when you 
go upstairs presently. All the ladies’ dominos are white, the 
men’s black; but at supper every one must wear a mask." 

And where are we to sup?" asked Mrs, Vivien, with a shiver; 

" on the mere? why, w^e ^lall be frozen long before supper-time!" 

" The summer bath-room opens on to the mere," said Mr. Dash- 
wood; "it has been boarded over, and makes an excellent ball- 
room, and behind it is erected the supper tent.” 

" We are having too much dancing!" said Mrs. Vivien, who 
hated to be taken by surnrise; " why, we have hardly yet got over 
the fatigue of the other night!" 

" But you will like this," said Mr. Dashwood, " Let me take 
you down to the mere presently, then .you -will understand the 
arrangements better; if there is anything you object to — pray alter 
it." 

" May 1?” said Mrs. Vivien, coloring a little, and turning to the 
.young lady, who indeed headed her father’s table, but showed so 
few hostess- like airs that there was nothing to distinguish her from 
any guest present. 

" Of course," said Katharine, in that indifferent voice which so 
curiously contrasted with her youth, and which, somehow, matched 
the composure of Mr. Velasquez, suggesting the idea that both were 
living introspective lives just then, save but for one sole peep-hole 
on the world — out of which they looked upon one another. 

" 1 don’t think 1 shall venture on the ice," said Mrs. Beaumanoir, 
a delicate beauty, who rarely courted those rude exercises to which 
more vigorous beauties w^ere addicted; " after all, 1 bale a good 
many letters to write, and think 1 shall spend the evening in my 
boudoir!” 

" What does it matter if we are cold— and do get red noses?” said 
Lady Alice, gayly, yet not without malicious intent, " for my part 
1 intend to work all the havoc 1 can on the neighboring squires, 
and whisper all sorts of scandalous stories of them into their wives’ 
ears!” 

" Only first we must get up some information about their char- 
acters,” said Lady Becky, briskly, " and 1 give notice that I shall 


22 


FOUND OUT. 


imi^Dund Mr. Langworthy tor that purpose. You shall take me to 
tlie mere uovv,” she added, to that gentleman, “ and put me up to 
everything, and at supper-time you shall see some fine studies ol 
rage depicted on bucolic countenances.” 

” 1 did not know Langworthy was custodian of the secrets of the 
county,” said Mr, Dashwood, with a look at his neighbor beneatti 
whirdi the latter colored, but said, “Since you have none, Dash- 
wood, you need not fear me;” and then the breakfast party broke 
up, halt tile women to try on their dominos, and see if their masks 
fitted, the other half to wrap up for that pilgrimage to the mere 
which curiosity dictated. 

After all it was an easy descent, and a surprise to those who'made 
it, snugly covered in from the winds and softly cushioned so as to 
make it a pleasant alley tor those who chose to linger on the way, 
heedless of the exclamations of surpiise uttered by those who went 
before, and announced fresh wonders at each step. Mailing Towmrs 
stood on the summit of a gently rising, hill, and at its back, and 
below it, was the summer Wh-room, a long and beautiful build- 
ing, composed almost entirely of white marble, whose eighteen 
windows looked out on the mere, so that a bather might leap from 
the bath to the water beyond, and, indeed, many fine ladies and 
gentlemen frolicked here in lime of summer, dressed with as much 
care as for a reception. 

But to-day no nymphs disported themselves, no floor of marble 
shone, but only* waxed and polished boaids; and each closed alcove 
that had served as beauty’s dressing-bower, now showed a little in- 
terior, halt visible through curtains of scarlet silk, while against the 
marble wall? a trellis-work of ivy had been attached that in turn 
supported brackets, whence depended clusters of exotics that sent 
a breath of sweetness through the warm air, and seemed to mingle 
witli the sphtsh of a fountain that from a bed of ferns tossed itself 
hiuh as the archway that closed it in. 

“I like the mere best,” said Katharine to Velasquez, as they 
turned their backs on the guests and workmen, and side by side 
stood looking out on the sheet of frozen water before them. 

“ One can breathe here,” he said; “ and you will skate to-night?” 

“Yes.” 

Her voice was lifeless— how could he tell that at heart she wuas 
passionately crying out, “Jack, Jack,— my Jack” — how know 
that in the paper of that morning she had seen something which 
perhaps meant good-by forever to the one, the only sweetheart of 
her life? 

Her gaze wandered out over the ice and snow with a deepening 
of that curious look which made Katharine Dashwood’s eyes to 
strangers at once so lovely and so haunting that they never forgot 
them — the look that had slowly been growing into them year by 
j^car; just as into the eyes of those who dwell for long months on 
water, and seldom come into port, is gradually washed a look of 
the sea, but in its quietude, not its storms. And with Kitty it was 
the thought of Jack, always Jack, that abode with her, and shaped 
her life, so that perchance, though she should know him dead, his 
living presence would remain with her to her dying day. 


FOU^^D OUT. 


23 

“ Do you skate, Mr. YelasqiiezV” said Mrs, Vivien, approachini; 
the silent young pair; “ and do you?” she added, turning to Kitty. 

They both answered ” Yes.” 

‘‘ Ana every one will know you by your height,” said Mrs. 
Vivien, carelessly, ‘‘ but 1 shall be able to glide in and out like a 
W'asp — so look out for stings! ’ sheadded, addressing Mr. Velasquez. 

‘‘ Or for violent colds,” said Mrs. Beaumanoir’s discontented 
voice beside them, ” though pray who could put on a fur cloak 
under a domino without looking perfectly ridiculous? And if all 
those windows are to be open how are we to venture in there in 
ball dresses and a domino only?” 

” No windows will be open,” said Mrs. Vivien, ” or so the car- 
penters say. Tln^e who wish to skate will pass out of the room by 
a door at the end which is hidden behind a screen.” 

” The corner of wiiich 1 shall take excellent care not to turn!” 
said Mrs. Beaumanoir, as with a reassured air she turned to reascend 
the incline to the house. 

” And 1,” thought Mrs. Vivien, ‘‘ will turn that corner to some 
advantage to-night, and it all goes well, by this time to morrow 
Mallinger Dash wood will be in my power.” 


CHAPTER Vll. 

“ And he w'as stout and proud-hearted, 

And thought o’t bitterlie; 

And he’s ga’en by the wan moonlight 
To meet his Maiiorie.” 

At dinner that evening the great man unexpectedly appeared, and 
complained a little to his host that it was only by merest accident 
he had heard of the festivity to be held that night. 

‘‘It was a sudden thought,” said Mr. Dashwood, “and my 
people have been quick in carrying the idea out, and scouring the 
country for guests, for they are all coming.” 

‘‘Even the milkmaids!” said Lady Becky, innocently, ‘‘fori 
hear, sir” (and she pointed a look at the great man), ‘‘you have 
been taking lessons in milking lately\” 

‘‘ Oh! one or two,” said Mr. B with a w^ave of the hand, as one 

wdto puts behind bim past follies. ‘‘ But 1 have ioimd the farmers’ 
daughters in the neighborhood very handsome, and very much in 
need of spiritual information.” 

‘‘ Also the liouse-maids,” said Mrs. Vivien, in an audible aside. 

But roused by abstinence to a keener appreciation of the good 
things around him, the great man presently awoke to the conscious- 
nesa'of unusual beauty in the air, and skipped into his mask and 
domino with a grace and vigor beyond the scope of a mere ordinary 
Apollo a trifle beyond sevenly years of age. 

*‘ Remember,” said Mr. Dashw’ood to the ladies, before they went 
ui) 3 lairs to spend an hour or so in putting on wdiat might be atljusted 
in ten seconds, ‘‘ there are to be no scraps of ribbon— no rosebuds 
or secret signs — we are all to be entire strangers to each other.” 

‘‘ .Vnd say the most cutting thing we can concoct,” said Mrs, 
Beaumanoir; ” but so far as the mere is concerned, everybody is 


FOUND OUT. 


24 

safe from me! So 5^011 are wise,” she said to Mrs. Vivien, as they 
went up the staircase toirfither, and she glanced at the other’s even- 
ing dress. 

Mrs, Vivien laughed, and there was more laughter in her room 
later, only of a smothered kind, and of delicious quality, to judge 
by the way her maid and she enjoyed it. 

ISo oue took longer over the simple process of tying on cloak and 
mask that night than Mrs. 'Vivien, unless it might be an unfortunate 
aeutleman wdiose black domino had disappeared from his dressing- 
room, a white one appearing in its place, with a white silk mask 
laid beside it. 

Though small of stature, he was a true Briton in his way, and 
when he found that there w’as not a spare black domino to be had 
for love or mone}'’, he sent his valet on an embassy to a lady’s maid, 
from which the man at length returned triumphant, bearing a much- 
flounced lady’s skirt, and a pair of silk stockings and satin shoes. 

To shave oft a little golden mustache was the work of a few 
seconds, though this entailed considerable sorrow. But oddly 
enough, as the valet opened the door for the lady's exit, a lady's 
maid a few doors distant covertly opened her lady’s door to let out 
a gentleman. 

Already from below arose sounds as of rapidly succeeding ar- 
rivals, but not a single voice. The many servants wore masks, and 
with dumb show pointed to the descent to the ball-room, or to those 
other brilliantly-lighted rooms, in the house itself, that were open to 
all who chose to enter. Men and women came in like ghosts, fluttered 
about a little while apart or in company, then separated, probably 
not to meet again till supper, for the perpetual recurrence of black 
and white forms bewildered the gazers, and made them wish that 
colors had been permitted. 

Half the county women came that night unwillingly, coerced 
thereto by their lords — the other half gladly, and resolved upon an 
evening of amusement that would afterward show^ in their sober 
lives like a page torn out of the ” Arabian Nights.” 

Even in the country, gentlemen are sometimes known to have 
their wits about them; and a patch here, a bow on the slipper there, 
may have been as cleverly followed up by them as those subtle hints 
that almost every great lady present had contrived to introduce into 
her attire. 

But soon it became evident that Mr. Dashwood had not been 
wrong in his estimate of the attractions of the mere, for by eleven 
o’clock at least a couple of liundred guests, leaving the brilliant 
background of the ball-room behind them, had stolen behind the 
screen and out to the half-lighted darkness w^here masked attendants 
silently strapped on their skates, then away! away! like a swallow 
upon air, would- stream out the white domino, and swift as it, the 
black one would stretch out in pursuit; and the real vigor, life and 
enjoyment of the ball that night was under the clear stars, and not 
in the atmosphere that Mrs. Beaumanoir alone found supportable. 
The sound of music came faintly from within, through the clouded 
panes of the long windows, a hurly-burly of revolving figures 
showed to the skaters without; beyond, and flanked by the hill, 
showed the thousand lights of JMallingei Towers, though none were 


POUND OUT. 


25 

visible in the window whence Katharine looked out on the scene 
below. The moon had turned to solid silver all the objects on her 
dressing-table, and the mask and domino that lay beside her; but 
why should she hurry to don them? 

ISo hostess was needed, as no host was visible, and she ir.iglit 
dream here for another two hours, so long as she appeared in her 
place at supper, and the carnival would wag no whit the slower or 
the faster for her presence. She had no secrets to hear from any 
one; the one sign of interest in her would be from one as lonely as 
herself — Mr. Velasquez. And to-morrow in early morning. Jack, 
the worthiest of all to be among the guests below, would embark in 
the midst of the cold and the snow. 

The thought suffocated her; she sprung up, fastened on her mask, 
tied her domino about her, then without a conjecture as to her looks, 
ran down the stairs, and mingled with the black and white crowd 
below. ' 

A Jesuit might have said that Mr. Dashwood had a special pur- 
pose in making all men and women alike that night; but nobody 
knew the cost, skill, and thought necessary to produce this com- 
pany at forty- eiuht hours' notice — for only on the night of Mr. Ve- 
lasquez’s arrival, had he resolved upon this entertainment. 

Time was short, the great man’s visit might perforce end on the 
morrow; to-night was Mr. Dashwood’s opportunity, and he meant 
to use it. 

In and out among the winged feet on the ice he flew, with a grace 
and skill that might have betrayed him to those who knew him 
best; but the black domino he punsued outmatched him, even as 
there always gained upon him a skater who had not tor a moment 
lost sight of him since the ball began. Then Katharine stole out, 
and with skates adjusted, rushed forward with a buoyant fetling 
as of wings after stilling air. She w’as presently found by the man 
pursued by her father, and in Mr. Dashwood’s momentary slack- 
ening of pace, he found himself overtaken, and with a disguised 
voice in his ear. 

“ Who is Mr. Velasquez? Why do you fear him?” 

Mr. Dashwood looked down at the inquirer, a black domino that 
hardly reached his shoulder, then in an equally disguised voice said, 
” 1 believe he is the guest of our host, and a very handsome young 
man.” 

” So your daughter seems to think — lookl Their height makes it 
impossible to mistake them! Do you mean to let him marry her?” 

” That is her lather’s affair.” 

” Which is yours! Now there is some secret connected with that 
young man, and the story told in the drawing-room last night.” 

” Whose drawing-room?” 

“Vours.” 

” Was 1 present?” 

” No— or it wmuld never have been told.” 

” Was it to his discredit?” 

‘‘ The world has accepted it as truth. But there are discrepancies 
in it — and a woman is at the bottom of it.” 

‘‘ What woman?” 

” Fitzhugh’s wife.” 


26 


FOUND OUT. 


“ 1 have heard that she adored her husband. 

“ And hated his friend. Why?” 

” Probably a pure matter of taste.” 

“ She must have had reason. What did you say to him in the 
fencing-room? And v\’hat became of the letter that the butler saw 
pinned by the rapier to his breast? There was no blood-stain on the 
one found beside him.” 

” You are better acquainted with the details than 1 am.” 

‘‘ They will be burned in on your heart before all is done. Why 
did Mrs. Fitzhugh hate you? Because she felt your passion for her 
a dishonor.” 

” Did such a passion exist?” said Dashwood, still in disguised 
tones. ” riis marriage did not point to such a conclusion.” 

” A marriage of pique, and one that his wife did not long sur- 
vive.” 

1 have heard that she died of a chill.” 

” To her heart, probably. Supposing that you had been the poor 
man and Fitzhugh the rich, v:ould the story you swore upon your 
oath at the inquiry be accepted?" 

‘‘ The farce becomes tiresome,” said the man addressed, and the 
next moment was swallowed up in the crowd. 

But before long, the one left behind came up with Katharine and 
Velasquez, and whispered into the ear of the latter, “ What is your 
secret errand here? How are you concerned in the story told in the 
drawing room last night?” 

Katharine heard the voice, but not the words; she felt the hand 
that held hers close on it violently, and at the same moment srune- 
thing was crushed into her othei by a black domino who flew past 
her and out of sight in a second. 

Then she discovered herself to be alone— deserted by Velas(iuez, 
but being quickly approached on both sides. She broke swiftly 
awaj’’, nor seemed to draw breath till she gained her chamber. Then 
with madly beating heart she held the scrap of paper to the light, 
and knew that her instinct was true, and the message was from 
Jack. 

” Kitty,” it said, “ if you are not as false and faithless as you 
seem, meet me in the fencing-room at one o'clock to-night. 

“Jack.” 

She kissed the letter with a sob of joy. What mattered his un- 
just thoughts of her, when a word from her lips, the cling of her 
arms round his neck, would silence his doubts forever? 

And surely this visit meant that his orders for abroad w'ere coun- 
lermanded, that war was averted, and he would in the immediate 
future have the power, if not the will, to seek her, though it might 
be years before heart and will alike permitted her to beckon him. 


POUifD OUT. 


27 


CHAPTER Vm. 

“ He turned liini i-icht and round about, 

As will a -vvoman’s son ; 

Then minded him on a little wee key, 

That Ills mither left to him. 
***** 

She bade liim keep this little w’ee key 
Till he was maist m need.” 

Mk. Vel.\squez had spent one unprofitable quarter of an hour in 
search of the domino whose woi’ds had so moved him as to drop 
Katharine’s hand, but soon he became aware mat he w'as himself 
followed, and was shortly addressed in langua<;e curiously in unison 
with his thoughts. 

Why are you masquerading here? ’ said a carefully disguised 
voice, “ are you ashamed to bear your father’s name?” 

“ It is one that 1 am proud to bear,” said Velasquez. 

” His death spoke his elegy,” said the hollow voice. 

“ No,” said Mr. Velasquez, as one stung at unawares, and aban- 
doning caution, “it is left to his wife and son to speak the true 
one.” 

“ So 5 'ou are his son?” 

“ 1 am my father’s son.” 

“ And you love your host's daughter?” 

Velasquez did not reply. 

“ And our host loved Mrs. Fitzhugh,” said a voice in the ear of 
the man who addressed Velasquez; “a woman was at the bottom 
of the fencing-room business, and perhaps a woman will bring the 
truth to light yet.” 

In the devil’s name,” cried Dash wood, in his natural voice, and 
trying to seize the black domino, “ who are you?” 

But his hand grasped thin air. Velasquez, too, had vanished in 
the crowed that each moment was augmented by fretrh stragglers 
from the ball-room. 

Black dominos grew bolder and white ones more timid, as the 
moment of unmasking quickly approached; but one notable ex- 
ample of each disappeared from the scene of action at a quarter to 
twelve, tbo'igb shortly afterward a lady and gentleman in plain 
evening dress, but masked, might hare been seen descending the 
stairs from their chambers to the supper-room, and mingling with 
the crowd already assembled. 

It was brilliantly lighted, and as one o’clock struck, the tallest 
black domino present lifted his musk, and about five hundred peo- 
ple followed his example. 

Then ’broke out a sharp fire of exclamation, laughter, reproach, 
and there showed out a brilliant dazzle ol lovely necks, and of faces 
all flushed with exercise and miscldef, so that such a galaxy of 
beauty was perhaps never before met together in that one room. 

But the host concerned himself principally in remarking, not the 


28 


FOUND OUT. 


X 

crowds present, but the disappearance of one important and one un- 
important individual, to wit, "his daughter and Mr. Velasquez. 

Probably their absence was observed by no one but himself, as 
his hungry guests closed round the tables, and Mrs. Vivien’s clear 
voice congratulaied him on the success of tbe evening. 

He looked at her keenly, but her eyes were innocent, her ball- 
dress crumpled, and as it it bad been worn under a domino for bours, 
till he began to doubt bis own conviction, that (his woman who had 
loved him fruitlessly for years was trying to secure him irrevoca- 
bly by her knowledge of the most secret passage of his life. 

“Have you seen my daughter?” he said, “but no— you have 
not been skating — and 1 thought 1 met her once with Mr. Velas- 
quez.” 

” And where are the two young people?” said Mrs. Vivien, glan- 
cing down tbe length of the brilliant room. ” I usually find them 
out l.w tbeir crowns, for sitting or standing they are nearly a foot 
higher than the tallest of either sex present!” 

” They are wise, and avoid extremes of cold and heat,” said Mr. 
Dash wood. ” No doubt they will appear presently.” 

” But are not these extremes met in each other?” she said, inno- 
cently, ” though surely Mr. Dashwood has other intentions for his 
heiress.” 

” Possibly Miss Dashwood has other intentions tor herself.” 

” Probably. But in the absence of an old lover, there is some- 
times as much danger in the presence of a new one. And there is 
something odd about Mr. Velasquez. Is he here in his father’s 
name, or his mother’s?” 

” 1 never asked him.” 

” But to-night he has been recognized,” said Mrs. Vivien, ” and 
1 suppose by some false resemblance, for I have heard him twice 
addressed as Fitzhugh by men who pretended to know his father.” 

Mai linger Dashwood shrugged his shoulders. 

‘‘ What will not old men say or do?” he said; ‘‘ look at our great- 
est man— is he responsible for his actions? And they must be mad- 
men, indeed, who recognize in his private secretary my old friend 
Fitzhugh.” 

” His skin is dark,” said Mrs. Vivien, ‘‘ but his height and the 
shape of bis face—especially tbe mouth and chin— are English.” 

” And what, my dear lady, has this to do with me?” 

“ Vou had a good deal to do with him in life— and death, and 
perhaps with his widow— or wife.” 

‘‘ On the contrary, so little that as wife 1 rarely met her — and only 
iis widow once when she forced herself upon me.” * 

” And as a maid you never loved her?” 

But Mr. Dashwood’s reply was lost in a burst of music that just 
then floated through the door w^ay of tbe temporary banqueting hall, 
summoning the wassailers to tar wilder revels than had preceded 
the hour of supper. 


FOUJ^D OUT. 




CHAPTER IX. 

“ ’Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 

Nor blawing snap's inclemencie, 

’Tis nae sic cauld that makes me cry, 

But my love’s heart grown cauld to me.” 

When Katharine Daslitvood stepped over the threshold of the 
fencing- room she found it in almost total gloom; but as she ad- 
vanced, a step seemed to meet hers, and she ran forward to throw her 
arms round a wholly irresponsive figure, that by its very immobility 
astounded her. She had expected some coldness, but not to have 
her maidenly largesse so abruptly thrown back in her face; and she 
retreated into the darkness without a sound, though while pride dic- 
tated a total disappearance, love held her feet fast, and stayed her. 

Only vaguely could she make out the profile of the man who 
stood motionless in an attitude of listening, and who wore the black 
domino and mask that had been de rigiieur with all Mr. Dashwood’s 
male guests that night. 

The height of the figure, an indescribable something in ils bearing 
that Jack had as surely inherited from his Fitzhugh mother, as 
Kathaiiue had inherited her carriage from her father, made the girl 
strain her eyes upon the figure, fighting against the counter-convic- 
tion that she had made a mistake, and stolen hither but to be met 
by a stranger. She still wore her white domino and her mask; but 
her mr'Ulh was young, and the muscles about it quivered yet, as she 
stood apart, her head bowed so that her height deceived the man, 
and he took her for one of those ladies whose advances, more or 
less bold, he had silently repelled during the past few days; or he 
had unwittingly intruded on some stolen meeting ajipointed by two 
persons who supposed the room to be the most secure from inter- 
ruption of any in the house, sq he turned quickly to efface himself. 

But a peculiar swing of the shoulders, the very way he p’anted 
his step, convinced her that this was Jack indeed— as angry perliaps 
as he was jealous, and with some fresh cause of offense against lier 
since he had pressed the note into her hand on the mere. And who 
else save her father knew how entrance could be effected to the 
room? — or who else would have the courage to come hither alone? 

A sob broke from her throat; involuntarily’’ she stretched out her 
liand as if to stay him, yet wheb he paused found no words, till 
ouce more he moved away — tfien she half-cried, half-faltered out — 

“ Would you leave me so? And when you know how 1 lo-love 
you!” 

The man stood still— as one petrified body and soul. 

“ Why are you so angry with me?” she said. ” 1 have to please 
my father, and consider his guests; but it is of you only that 1 think 
night and day.” 

Still he did not stir, but stood as one who doubts his own ears and 
heart; yet why should not this miracle be, that a young maid should 
tall in iove as irrevocably, as hopelessly at first sight with a young 
man, as in this same moment he had fallen in love with her; and 


30 


FOUJSM-> OL"T. 


why should she be more proud than Juliet, or take shame to herself 
for owning it? Yet this was not the Katharine whom he had wor- 
shiped, and with no more hope of her stooping to him than a star 
trom heaven — and perhaps something ot her preciousness and beauty 
faded in his eyes, as in the gloom he moved toward her, and took 
her hand. 

The grasp was warm, as w’ as the kiss he pressed upon it, but sure- 
ly she found them cold, or perhaps the shelter of his arms would 
have satisfied her better; for she shivered, then put up a timid hand 
as if to remove his mask, but he caught and held il with the other. 

“ 1 shall see you no more after to-uijrlit,” she said. “ Something 
tells me that you will never come back. However cold and angry 
you may be now, to-morrow you will remember tfiat I love you — 
that 1 never loved any man but you— and that not my father nor 
any other, but only death has power to part us. 

“ Have you been jealous, dear?” she went on after a moment’s 
pause, and still he stood with bowed head before her, ” imleed you 
need not be ” — and from under the white domino stole a white arm, 
and lifted itself to his shoulder, for she was hungry — oh! so hungry 
— for a kiss of his mouth, and perhaps heaven seemed close to her, 
as he stooped as if about to give it, when a grinding noise, as of a 
key turning painfully in the lock, made them start violently apart, 
and with a terrified whisper ot ” The fire-place ' the girl stepped 
noiselessly and swift as lightning to the wall, and, In the same mo- 
ment that between two suits of armor a panel slid back and gave 
exit to his daughter, Mallinger Dasliw’ood stepped into the room. 

He locked the door behind him, then advanced to the center of 
the room, and listened intently. A moment ago he could have sworn 
he heard a step, but the faint light showed only the desolate per- 
spectiv(3 of floor, the richly beautiful walls upon which here and 
there a glint of moonlight strayed. 

lie wore the exact evening dress of Henry Irving in the ” Corsican 
Brothers,” a dress but little m excess of the present fashion, and 
his clear, cold feahures. showed more' distinctly in the half-light, 
than had any visible there to-night. 

” So the young pair of fools have found a more agreeable place 
of meeting than 1 suspected,” he said aloud, and with a careless- 
ness that showed how habitual was his sense of immunity from all 
scrutiny or eavesdropping here. His voice, though low', traveled far, 
for he spoke as distinctly as he thought, and his worst enemy could 
not at any period of his life have applied to him the epithet of ” un- 
ready. ’ ’ 

He began to pace the room slow’ly, and on reaching the window 
at its end, looked out through die unshuttered pane at the crowd on 
the mere far below. 

White and black— black and white; the eddying circles upon 
which i\\Q JlamheaiLC flickered, produced the same'feeling of monot- 
ony on his mind that they had long ago done oa some of his guests; 
yet it vvas w'ith a slight shrug of satisfaction that he turned at last 
from the scene, and resumed his measured walk. 

Beside the fire-place he slopped and looked for some moments into 
the yawning darkness, then his slow' steps passed on, and he paced 


FOUND OUT. 31 

the room twice be! ore he a^ain spoke, pausing close by the stain 
that faced the fire-place m the long, narrow room. 

“ So the fool has fallen in love with my daughter,” he said, de- 
liberately, ” and she has proved as faithful as the rest of her charm- 
ing sex. And the men are cousins— and curiously alike in height 
and carriage. Tita’s son— poor Tita! (his voice took an indescrib- 
able accent) — thus goes your last hope of vengeance. Apparently 
he never shared your hopes — for his presence here is a mere accident, 
though perhaps you may have thought ii a lucky one. Shall I let 
the pair marry— stab you through the heart a second time— take 
away your son aS 1 stole from you your husband? IVhat if he did 
love you— 1 had his company in every daylight and evening hour ho 
could command. What it you influenced him — yet your utmost in- 
fluence could not keep him for a moment from my side. You could 
never bend issues to your will, poor Tita; you could not even turn 
a man’s love for you into hatred, though you tried as desperately 
aR a starving man might strive for bread. When you scorned me 
most, 1 loved you best; when, with my wu’fe’s hand often on your 
arm, you met me abroad face to face, and passed me by as if 1 w’ere 
no more, no less, than the most indifferent stranger present, 1 swore 
to breaK your defiance, to make you, if but for one brief moment, 
mine; you wei’e something to beat— to subjugate — and after all, per- 
haps, 1 got the vital part of you when 1 took into my hand Fi(z- 
hugh’s honor and his life — and the future of his young son. If 1 
never loved you more than on the day when 1 asked you to be my 
wife, five minutes after Fitzhugh had spoken, and your transfigured 
face told all that 1 had lost and he had won, 1 never coveted you so 
much as when here in this room you cursed me, and with your foot 
on the stain his blood had made, accused me of having murdered 
your husband. Did you believe it? 

“ And my wife must needs love you— poor Alicia, whose beauty 
was as water to the wine of yours — and in your fierce, grand w'ay 
you loved her too, and pitied her — but, thank God, you never pitied 
me. 1 think that toward the last, some faint contempt stirred in 
you for Fitzhugh — I wish 1 had been by to see the blaze in your 
eyes when you dashed down the money on the table, and sat wait- 
ing his return. 1 think if they had not come to tell you he was 
dead, that if he had come himself, you would have hated him, and 
my game been won. The man who has power to rouse such force 
of hatred in a woman, has power to move her just as violently in an 
opposite direction; and once 1 had mastered you, you must have 
loved me. There was no pretense in your hatred— no touch of 
coquetry in your composition — you had not needed to learn a 
woman’s first lesson, that it is only while slm holds herself out of 
his reach, that a man will madden himself about her. 

” And the woman below— that syllabub in petticoats, that froth 
in tulle— thinks not only to take your place in my heart, Tita, but 
to sit down by my hearth as my wife. She has some false clew — 
possibly given to her by your son. What does she expect to dis- 
cover, or what does he? But if 1 could find you, Tita--” 

His voice ceased abruptly, and with it died the note of human 
passion that might have made his every word a revelation to one 


FOUKB OUT, 


32 

who had seen only the callous, polished man of tbc world— the 
enemy even of his daughter, if her interest collided with his own. 

When he next spoke, he was the selt known to his acquaintances, 
probably to every one save the beloved woman whose image was 
so deeply imprinted in his heart that a lite-time had not been able to 
obliterate it. Think you theie is no green spot in the most arid 
heart? Find me one such heart, and 1 will give you tor it a king- 
dom. For there is no such heart on earth, or perchance 1 might 
find the kingdom to give in exchange. 

“ A saturnalia has set in by now — 1 am wanted below,” he said; 
and in a tew momenis he had locked the door on two men, both 
masked, and both in dominos, wlio issued simultaneously trom the 
fire-place, then in the faint light removed their masks to glare upon 
one another. 


CHAPTER X. 

“ If I had knoAvn she was beloved, 

She had never been loved by me.” 

But if both unmasked on the instant, only one threw off his 
domiro as if it sufliocated him, or as it he wanted the tree use of 
his right arm. 

Thus disclosed, Velasquez saw a stranger, yet one whose features 
were curiously familiar, while Jack started violently; for in spite of 
the Spanish coloring, there w'ere the mouth and chin, the Iieight and 
noble air of that very Fitzhugh whose blood stained the boards upon 
which they stood. 

‘‘1 fear I have intruded on an assignation,” said Jack, fiercely, 
” but no doubt the lady will return — meanwhile I will withdraw.” 

‘‘1 had no appointment with any lady here to-night,” said 
Velasquez. 

” Then you are happier still— since she loved you suflSciently to 
follow you hither.” 

” That, sir, is none of your business.” 

” It may be more so than you suppose.” 

”1 am open to conviction. Prove your right, and 1 will leave 
you to await the lady’s return.” 

J ack laughed. To mental shock had succeeded sober reason ; and 
if jealousy still swayed him, it he suspected that he had thrust his 
hillet into the wrong hand (while Katharine’s visit to the tencing- 
room was a previous arrangement wiih Velasquez), he was yet re- 
solved to await the issue of events, and learn the truth with his own 
eyes and ears from the sweet lips of Kitty, whom to doubt were 
worse than death. 

” We will place ourselves in the hands of the lady,” said Jack; 
‘‘ she shall choose between us, and you shall have the first chance. 
1 will return to the fire-place— a roomy retreat, if ignominious— as 
soon as the least sign ot her shall appear.” 

Velasquez stood mask in hand, outwardly cold as ice, inwardly a 
proy to the ^yilde8t emotions that can convulse a man’s soul. To 
the intoxicating joy that Katharine’s confession of love had given 
him, the touch of her hand, the very kiss that had offered itself like 


FOUXD OUT. 


33 

heaven to his lips, had rudely succeeded the shock of Dashwood’s 
imminent approach, the hurried flicrlit to a place of concealment, 
whence, every nerve on stretch from tear of detection, he had list- 
ened to the soliloquy that had but just stopped short of the truth, 

1 he fire-place was large, the presence of another man unsuspected 
in that turmoil of e\citemeut which for the moment closed his 
senses against everything save Dashwood’s voice; and when he 
emerged into the room and Jack Stormonth followed, it was with 
dilficulty he strangled a cry. Now he was confronted with a man 
who instinct told him was 'Kitty’s lover, and the splendid gift she 
had but now seemed to lavish on him, dwindled to ashes when he 
saw himself as the false recipient, not the true. 

“ As 3'ou please,” he said at last, so carelessly that Jack’s jeal- 
ous heart sunk; tor was not the calm strength of confidence in his 
rival’s tone? And that this was his rival he kne^v well enough; 
had he not from outside the ball-room witnessed Kitty’s absorption 
in the young man on the first night they met? Had he not on the 
mere to-nighi seen how they were never more than a few minutes 
apart, and being named openly as lovers by the masqueraders 
around ? 

“ 1 don’t think I will retire just yet,” said Jack, coolly. ” Time 
scarcely passes so agreeably when one is waiting for another man’s 
possible sweetheart as for his own. But 1 think 1 have met you 
before,” and he looked hard at the young man with an odd feeling 
that some obliquity of vision gave him back iris own face, but 
altered, as in a cracked looking-glass, 

” 1 am Tito Velasquez— at your service.” 

” And my Dncle Fitzhugh married Tita Velasquez,” said Jack, 
in a startled voice, ” so that accounts for the resemblance — and his 
soliloquy just now.” 

” And you are a Fitzhugh?” exclaimed Velasquez, stepping back. 

” No— 1 am Jack Stormonth; my mother W’as a Fitzhugh— sister 
to the man wdio — died.” 

“ But by his own hand?” 

“Undoubtedly,” 

“ There may have been a moral force that guided his will, as 
surely as if a physical one snatched the rapier from his hand and 
dispatched him,” said Velasquez, “ and in thought and deed 1 hold 
Mallinger Dashwood guilty of my father’s death.” 

“ You have no proof,” said Jack Stormonth — “ in fact every tittle 
of evidence points the other way — even to the confidence to which 
we were eavesdroppers just now. I hate the man as much as — ” he 
paused abruptly. 

“ You love the daughter,” said Velasquez, “ and 1 love her loo.” 

Jack laughed again. 

“Let us be frank,” he said, “though our courtship need not 
hinder our being enemies— presently. Three days ago she loved me 
—if you have changed her fancy in that time, keep her, and try to 
discern your good fortune. If she has a heart — and I know she has 
one— she will presently come stealing back— and she shall choose 
between us.” 

Velasquez made no answer— the bitter truth was sinking into a 
30ul inured to sullering, that in the very moment of his foregoing 


34 


FOUNJ) OUT. 


vengence for llie sake of love, love itself ha<l passed him by, leav- 
ing him poorer far than when he had crossed the thresliold of the 
room in which his father had met his death. 

Katharine had fooled him -unwittingly, perhaps, but siill she had 
fooled him— and the tide of bitterness that her supposed love for 
him had stayed, rushed back witii overwhelming vehemence upon a 
heart that almost from its first beat had known but sorrow. 

“There can be no question of choice between us,” he said, 
haughtily; “ probably Miss Dash wood would be as surprised at the 
idea as if one of her father’s lackeys pitted himself against you. 1 
enteied tins room as a spy— and 1 have met the fate that ever}' sj)}' 
deserves — detection and disgrace.” 

“ Not disgrace!” cried .lack, touched in spite of himself, and not 
yet purged of some lingering doubts of his Kitty. “ You came here 
to seek some key to the, riddle of your father’s death. And your 
mother was not the only one w’ho swore it had never been solved — 
for mine persists in it to this day that in spite of all the circumylan- 
tial evidence, the real truth about his death was never known.” 

“ But it shall be,” said Velasquez, in a hard voice. 

“ How will you arrive at it?” said .lack. “ You can’t force him 
to speak — and by wdiat letters or documents is it possible to convict 
him?” 

“ One letter only is needed,” said Velasquez, “ the letter through 
which my father ran his rapier, and his rapier through his heart. If 
this letter be destroyed there is no proof — unless a confession can 
be wrung from Mailinger Dashw'ood’s lips.” 

“ What was in the letter?” said Jack. 

“ Two persons only know^ that— a dead man and a living one. But 
my mother is convinced that it w^as forged by Dashwmod in her 
handwriting, and substituted by him lor the one brought by the 
butler to this room, that by some devilish ingenuity , he contrived 
for my father to see it, and that finding in it proofs of my mother s 
faithlessness, and unable to survive his dishonor, he slew* himself.” 

“ This is an extraordinary theory,” exclaimed .lack, startled into 
forgetting to listen for Kitiy’s step, “ one that only a w'oman’s bn in 
could originate. 1 never knew' until to night there had been any 
question of love between them.” 

“ The love was all on his side — if love it could be called,” said 
Velasquez. “ He asked her to be his wife, and after her marriage 
to his friend, pai'sued her wdth a guilty passion that seemed oidv 
intensified by her scorn of him; until at last the desperate expedit nt 
seems to have occurred to him to so humiliate my father in h(‘r 
eyes, that disgust for liim would throw her into the arms of her 
lover ” 

“ But the check,” cried .Tack, “ the forged check—” 

“ Was forged by (he hand that w'rote the letter,” said Velasquez 
“ How' easy tor Dashwood to open the envelope addressed to my 
mother, take out the check inclosed in the note, and substitute an- 
other — how easy for him later to remove my mother’s (supposi d) 
letter from my iather’s dead body, and leave in its place the banker’.‘i, 
in which the signature to tlie checlv w'as denounced as a forgery!” 

“ But he swore on his oath that he had never signed the check,” 
said Jack, w'ho felt himself plunged into an unreal w'orld, ami that 


FOUXD OUT. 


35 

even ]\lallinger Dashwood’s sucl(ft3u entry would not much disturb 
him and— hist! what goes there? does not a shadow move close to 
the wall out yonder? And whose but a woman’s foot should tall 
so lightly that scarce can it be heard? And which of the* two tlnures 
that she so softly approaches slips noiselessly toward the fire-place, 
so that when her eyes liave pierced the gloom, she stands doubting 
and trembling, her heart sinking with the thought that once again 
she is doomed to a bitter disappointment? 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ She says— ‘ I had rather have a kiss, 

Childe W'aters, of thy mouth, 

Tliau I Avould have Chesliire and Lancashire both, 

That lie by north and south.’ ” 

1 "WONDER if a whirlwind, or a deluge, or an eaithtpiake. or even 
the abstraction of all her clothes by a vigilant guardian will hinder 
a woman from keeping a love try it her heart beset upon it? 
All throbbing with love, she will meet every obstacle only stub- 
bornly to surmount it; and the more she is hindered, the more 
swiftly she will hurry, and the greater the danger,' then the more 
v^aliautly she will cast her woman’s fears behind her, and go forth 
to face it. 

Perhaps a timid doubt that delay has made her late — too late — 
makes her step falter as at last she reaches the spot, but what are 
her feelings, thiuk you, when, instead of tlie beloved face she has 
braved all to see, a stranger’s features are turned upon her? 

Katharine Dashwood’s heart seemed to freeze under the grasp of 
an icy hand, as the gaze of Velasquez met her own. 

If he had doubted — if for a moment he had clung to the thought 
tliat she might have forgotten Jack Stormonth for him, the hope 
died as, half sobbing, she stepped back. 

There was a mortal ache in Kitty’s heart as, drawing her mask 
u'p to hide her face, she stood erect, knowing that by some hand, 
possibly this man’s, she had been twice fooled that night. 

“ How dared you do it?” she cried a moment or two later, ” to 
bring me here supposing 1 was to find Jack — my Jack— and be- 
cause you know that, you have dared to play this jest upon me. 
O! Jack, Jack!” 

That cry might have summoned any lover, however backward, 
out of a hiding-place less ignominious than a fire-place; but Jack 
had promised to give Velasquez a chance, and he checked himself 
as the latter spoke. 

” 1 have played no jest upon you, but my presence in this room 
is dishonorable. 1 came here as a spy — on a bad errand to your 
lather, and—” he paused—” by accident you came also, and mis- 
took me tor the man you love.” 

Her head was bowed; he could uot see the slow tears that fell as 
he s])oke 

” 1 loved you,” he went ou, after a second’s ])ause, ” from the 
mo'ment that I first saw you. 1 loved you. 1 forgot revenge — ” 

” What revenge?” interrupted Katharine, lifting her face. 


36 


rOUND OUT. 


Velasquez looked at her. In one fif^htning moment the traditions 
of a lifetime, the first pure passion of a man, were pitted against 
each other, and vengeance might be sweet, but to be magnanimous, 
to earn but the humblest corner in her heart, were sweeter. Some 
day perhaps she would know — taught by her lover’s lips, mean- 
while — , 

We decide the supreme issues of our life more easil}’’ than we 
choose a pair of gloves, or a color that we fancy may suit our com- 
plexion; and there was hardly a perceptible pause between Katha- 
rine’s gesture, and Velasquez’s reply. 

“Your father has earned my hatred,” he said, “but from to- 
night 1 bear him no malice— 1 plot against him no more — but my 
condition with him shall be that he makes you happy with — Jack.” 

Kitty’s gratitude came in a siorm of sobs. 

“ 1 shall never see him again,” she said, “ and you are noble — 
and 1 am grateful— but you are not Jack — and that is why 1 have 
liked you so; because we were both so miserable, and 1 supposed 
jmur case was like my own.” 

Velasquez took her hand very gently and reverently, and as they so 
stood, the sound of a key in the lock made them start, and involun- 
tarily tiirhten their clasp, wdiile their two faces turned pale and 
ghostly toward the intruder. 

It was "Mallinger Dashwood, who had returned, and closing with- 
out locking the door behind him, approached with leisurely step the 
two who stood full in the moonbeams, their hands tightly locked 
together. 

He came close, politely saluted them as strangers, then affected 
surprise at recognizing his daughter, but ihere was little of the angry 
father in the glance he turned- on Velasquez, 

“You are fond of armor?” be said, “and fortunately there is 
a moon, by w'hich to see it. But 1 should recommend your coming 
by daylight— anything interesting of which you may be in search is 
better discovered by day than by night.” 

Ve'asqez bowed. 

“ 1 have learned here to-night, as much as 1 have now the wish to 
learn,” he said, and led Katharine to the door. 

Her cloak had slipped back, his domino had been cast aside, and 
as slowly, as statclily as it they were about to dance a min jet 
together, the beautiful young pair passed hand in hand opt of signt. 


CHAPTER Xll. 

“ ‘ Now Christ’s curse on my head,’ he said, 

‘ But I did lose by that bargain.’ ” 

Mallinger Dasirvood stood for a minute in an attitude of listen- 
ing, after tne door closed, then he crossed over and locked it, ob- 
serving as he did so some obstacle lying close to the -wall that, on 
stooping to look at, he found to be a black domino. 

Had he touched the ample garment, even with his loot, the issue 
of this story nvight have beeii different, but he saw a cloak only, 
shrugged his shoulders as if at a visible tool’s presence, and came 
slowly buck to the fireplace. 


FOUND OUT. 


37 

“ So I was Tij^ht,” he said aloud, as he leaned one elbow on the 
chimney-piece; “ and for some whim, probably his, they must meet 
here of all places; and he forgoes his vengeance for love, for love, 
poor wretch! He must have been here when I came first; 1 felt a 
presence in the room, but he heard no more than Tita may have 
told him” — he turned sharply as at some sudden thought, and 
touched a Russian helmet that hung close to his right hand, and 
from whose missharjen jaws he drew a paper, and^stood looking 
down on it fixedly. The characters traced upon it w’ould have been 
faint by day, and in this dim light were quite undecipherable, even 
if a broad stain (torn through iis center) did not mar tliem. 

“ And if the fool had found it, what then?” he said, half aloud, 
” what then? It could have proved nothing, and as it is, Tita’s 
son knows as little as Tita’s mother, ” 

He replaced the paper, the jaw^s closing on it with a pecular snap- 
ping sound — a sound carefully committed to aural memory by an 
unseen auditor. 

‘‘ A spy— and she stoops to flirt wdth him. And Jack Stor- 
month ” — he laughed aloud — ” odd that he should be cut out by his 
own cousin. So there’s another unfaithful woman— yet 1 could have 
sworn she was immovable as I, both in love and hale. If she reads 
her paper, she must be aware that he sails with his regiment at any 
moment, but knowng the impossibility of their meeting, she feels 
no more divided from him thus, than it he remained in England. 
Meanwhile— s' amuse. And Jack Stormonth is scarcely the man 
to go shares with another in a woman’s favor. He shall have some 
news before long of his Kitty — and you, Tita, will receive some of 

your son. IVlr. B goes to-morrow, but he will leave here — Mr. 

Velasquez,” 

He moved tow^ard the center of the room, and stood looking 
down angrily at the invisible stain at his feet. 

” A coward’s blood!” he said with an accent of bitter contempt; 
” you left her alone; you almost descried, while you loved her, and 
then you must put a shameful end to your existence, and leave her 
to bear the dishonor of it. Tita, Tita! 1 would have loved you 
better. I would have shielded you better than that. And you re- 
member me— the undying hate that looks at me out of your son’s 
eyes tells me that. 1 can move you 5'et, 1 can make your heart 
throb, and your eyes flash— wiiile perhaps, little by little, gradually 
shrouded in a faint contempt, a chill pity, you have forgotten— 
him. 1 will see that look, 1 will hear your voice before i am many 
days older; your son’s presence here gives me the clew to you that 
for twenty-three years 1 have sought in vain. You must be nearly 
forty years old ; perhaps you are not beautful now, but you are 
Tita.” 

He walked to the window, and looked out. The mere was de- 
serted, and only the waning light of the moon glimmered coldly 
over its expanse; early morning was at hand, but without a visible 
streak of daylight. 

” To-morrow this rotting shutter sha'l be replaced with a whole 
one,” he said, still speaking in the soliloquy that he habitually in- 
dulged in here. ” The door shall be barred, the panel securely 
closed against sweethearts and spies,” 


38 


FOUND OUT. 


Kear the door he paiiseil, and looked down on tbe dim outlines 
of the voluminous black domino, flung down as in haste against 
the wall. 

“ FooH” he muttered, then unlocked the door and passed out on 
the other side; the key grated in the lock, and once more the tenc- 
ing-room was silent as the grave. 


CPIAPTEK Xlll. 

“ He neither kist her when he cam’ 

Nor clappit her when he gaed, 

And in and out at her bower Avindow 
The moon shone like the gleed.” 

ScAiiCELY was the silence established than once moie it was 
broken. 

Not by Jack; he still knelt on one knee, half expecting Dash- 
wood’s return, with one intense bitter feeling dominating all the con- 
fusion of his mind — that Kitty had corrie, had gone, had spoken 
with his rival once, twice, and he, poor tool, poorer Jack, had not 
even spoken to her, had not even kissed her! And within two 
hours he must be at the railway station; within twenty four he 
might have embarked, and he was as powerless to reach her by word 
or letter as it already the bullet she had feared for him were buried 
in his breast. 

“ Kitty!” he whispered passionately, and cursed himselt for hav- 
ing put Velasquez forward, wasting in doubt of her the precious 
moments that she should have passed in his arms; and then his 
pulse stood still, his limbs became rigid as light steps approached 
the fire place, and a figure (how in that moment could lie tell if it 
were short or tall?) advanced almost to wythin reach of his hand. 

But in the next second he knew that this was not Katharine 
The bodily sense of that one beloved presence was ‘absent, and 
ndngled with the bitter disappointment of his rashly kindled 
hoiies came the impatient thought that he might as well have chos- 
en the ball-room to night for a trysting-place, as this desolate spot, 
to which all the world seemed to be hurrying on each other’s heels! 

If love had brought three young people hither, and fear or habit, 
iMallinger Dashwood, it was clear that neither love nor fear swayed 
the mind of this new visitor, but rather an apish curiosity as to the 
insides of the gaping and grinning helmets, and pots-de-fer securely 
fastened to the wall and against the mantel-shelf, lie heard a match 
struck, saw a flicker of its light on a man’s domino that swept the 
floor, caught the click and jar of more than one lilted and falling 
visor, then, as the match died out, heard a sharp, half-stifled ex- 
clamation, and the faint rustle of paper, followed by a snapping 
sound as of steel meeting steel. 

The next moment flesh met tlesh, for another hand had folded 
over the one that held the paper, and as, with a half shriek, the thief 
struggled to get Irce, Jack issued fi-oin the fire-place and dragged 
the ligure along with him to a window. 

“ So you are one of Dash wood’s spies?” said a voice surprisingly 
clear and high, considering the male garb visible beneath Uie 


/ 


FOUND OUT. 39 

domino, while a disengaged hand fetched him the soundest box on 
the ear that he had enjoyed since childhood. 

“iMo. I’m only going to be his son-in-law,” said Jack, imper- 
turbably; ” and so you’re a woman,” he added, looking at the 
man’s hat, the close hair, the mask and domino — all masculine save 
the voice that revealed, and the woman’s temper that betra3Td her. 

” How do you know that?” she said, sullenly. 

” Men never box other men’s ears, and women always tuck their 
thumbs inside their fingers when they hit out — not from the shoulder. 
Allow me ” — and he took the little rosy hand, turning it palm up- 
ward, in which the nails were clinched over the stolen papers — ” 1 
must unlock these, and you can punish me with the other hand at 
your leisure.” 

“They are no more yours than mine,” she said, between her 
teeth, ” and j'ou are telling me a lie — she loves Mr. Velasquez.” . 

Jack laughed. 

“How long have you been here?” he said, still keeping a firm 
grasp of her hand. 

She neither moved nor spoke. 

” Probably it was you wdio brouoht Mr. Velasquez here to- 
night,” he saiil slowdy, as one who thinks aloud, ‘‘ and perhaps he 
came as no sp}’ — but only by accident, to hinder me and m3’ sweet 
Kilty from being happ3^” 

” You have little care for the 3"Oung lady’s reputation,” said the 
black domino, with a sneer. 

‘‘It needs none,” said Jack, carelessly: “it all the women on 
earth disgraced their names, there wmuld be one exception to the 
rule, and that woirld be my Kitty. And in the interests of Kilty’s 
father ”— he dexterously unlocked her fingers — ‘‘ I will relieve 3’ou 
of these.” 

She stamped her foot with fury as she felt her hand empty, and 
knew that the secret knowledge by which she had meant to coerce 
Dashwmod to her will, had been snatched from her before she had 
even mastered it. 

‘‘ If you had a knife in your hand, you w’ould kill me now%” he 
said, laughing, though with little mirth, ” but before I go, 1 should 
like to know if y;ou are in love with Velasquez— or with my future 
father-in-law?” 

” You are rash,” she said, sullenl\’, “ for 1 can do her and 3^011 
more harm than you suppose.” 

‘‘You can’t,” he said, carelessly, “for she is Kitty, and 1 am 
Jack— and as we’ve got each other’s good opinions, we don’t 
trouble ourselves about other people’s.” 

He threw open the window’ as he spoke, and making as if to get 
out, he turned suddenly, and had removed the mask and was peer- 
ing’into her face before she guessed his intention. 

“ I like to know Kitty’s enemies and mine,” he said, “ and so 
good-night— and 1 w’ish — 1 wish to God 3^11 weie Kitty.” 

Then he shut tlo w’indow between xhem, and hanging to the 
tough ivy, began that precipitous descent to tlie ground upon which 
none but" a man w’ith surest eye and foot might venture, but swiftly 
as he w’ent, it seemed to him that he had made the ascent more 
swiftly still, with the heart bounding in his breast at the thought of 


40 


POT^XD OFT. 


Kitty, while now it lay icy and starved as a habe that famishes for 
want ill its cold and deserted cradle. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“ The hose and shoon 'ivere git, my man's 
They cam’ first to my hand; 

And I’ve raveled a’ my yellow hair. 

Coming against the wind.” 

At breakfast next mornin/r Mr. B announced his imminent 

departure, but as he was bent on returning, if only for a day or two, 
before the party broke up he ventured to commit ]\lr. Velasquez to 
the kind hospitality of his host during the tew days that would in- 
tervene. 

“ You could not leave my daughter and myself a more charming 
hostage for your return,” said Dashwood, and Velasquez bowed, 
and Catharine looked at her father. 

“ By thei way,” said Mrs. Vivien, turning her languid eyes on 
the two young people, who, as usual, sat side by aide, ‘‘ how does 
the fencing-room look by moonlight — by very shabby moonlight — 
for it must have been almost morning when 1 saw you both return- 
ing from an inspection of the armor?” 

“ It was only half-past three,” said Dashwood. ‘‘ 1 looked at my 
watch when they left me.” 

All within ear-shot glanced at Katharine and Velasquez. Mrs. 
V'ivien shrugged her shoulders. 

‘‘ Chacun d son gout” she said, “but 1 should scarcely have 
thought a room where a murder — or was it a suicide? — had been 
committed, was a cheerful spot for a promenade on a freezing .Jan- 
uary night!” 

” 1 fancy a good many people feel chilled inside this morning,” 
said Lord Noll, cheeifully. ” Put a mask and domino on some peo- 
ple and (hey turn into wasps, and go about stinging everybody. At 
supper some of the faces were as long as hatchets I” 

Mrs. Vivien lauirhed. 

‘‘ Was yours one of them?” she said. 

‘‘ Oh no! Somebody told me 1 was a fool; 1 said 1 knew it; an- 
other, that without my mask i was ugly enough to frighten ahorse. 
1 told him 1 did not possess a looking-glass for nothina*. A third 
informed me that my grandfather was a green-giocer. I gave him 
my word of honor'that he was a tallow-chandler. Afouith accused 
me of triflins: with the feelings of a lady for whom 1 have a — a great 
respect, and transferring them to a lady who — who” — in spite of 
himself he stole a look at Katharine, who seemed lost in thought. 

‘‘Doesn’t want them,” said Mrs. V^ivien; ‘‘and you,” she 
added, turning to her host, ‘‘ were any home-truths fired at you?” 

‘‘No; only some clumsy guesses,” he said negligently; ‘‘but, 
can any one tell me who was the lady in a man’s mask and domino, 
and who the gentleman disguised as a lady last night?” lie had 
raised his voice a little, and his voice traveled to the end of the long 
table and checked the conversation then going forward, producing 


FOUND OUT. 41 

a violent increase of color in the face of a gallant warrior who had 
mysteriously lost all hirsute appendage since yesterday. 

A burst of laughter greeted the spontaneous confession of his 
guilt, and Lady Becky exclaimed: 

“ So that explains it I" 

“ What?”’ said Mrs. Vivien. 

”1 hope you didn't find my cheek very rough, sir,” said the 
young man, turning to Mr. B , who had suddenly devoted him- 

self to his plate; ” but 1 assure you — ” 

” That more than one lady present might have envied you,” said 
Lady Becky, maliciously; “ but if you were the lady, pray who was 
the gentleman?” and she glanced round the table. 

” 1 don’t know,” said the perplexed warrior. ‘‘ All 1 can say is, 
m}” man found my mask and domino gone, and a woman’s white 
one laid out instead, and rather than stay upstairs during the fun, 
X accepted the situation.” 

” But your petticoats?” cried one. 

“ \our wig?” ejaculated another. 

” Your shoes?’* 

‘‘One of the ladies’ maids found the first, the housekeeper the 
second, but the third was a twister, though we got over that in 
time.” 

” Does any woman here own to number seven shoes?” said Lady 
Becky, darting an impertinent smile at a beautiful blonde who was 
present, perfect as far as one could see, and who might even have 
perfect feet — had the world ever been privileged to behold them. 

‘‘They were black satin,” continued the warrior, ‘‘and when 
they burst, which of course they did, it didn’t matter much, as I’d 
got on black silk stockings — ” 

‘‘ By Jove .you had!” said Lord Dolly, in an audible aside, “ that 
stuck half-way up your leg.” 

” I’m afraid they showed,” said the son of Mars, apologetically, 
‘‘ you see, when 1 saw people being spilled right and left, 1 nat- 
urally skated oft to assist— and of course I hitched up the petticoats 
—and that domino was so confoundedly short!” 

‘‘ And which sex profited most by your assistance?” said Lady 
Becky. 

” Oh! yours,” he said readily. “ 1 went to them by instinct— and 
none of them were in the least grateful. One woman, as soon as 
she regained her feet, slapped my face.” 

‘‘ But Mr. B consoled you,” said Mrs. Vivien, sweetly. 

‘‘ It was only a temporary infidelity to the milkmaid,” whispered 
Lord Noll in her ear. ‘‘ He was up at seven this morning to assist 
her in the dairy,” 

” But what became of your domino?” cut in Mrs. Vivien sharply, 
‘‘ and which of us women had the bad taste— and the height — to 
wear it?” 

” I think her maid took tucks in it,” said the warrior in perfect 
good lailh; then looking around and catching the feminine glances 
—.some indignant, some hurt, and all with one exception sincerely 
innocent — turned upon him, he colored to his brows, and looked the 
picture of misery. 

‘‘ Why are you all so angry with me?” he said. It was a good 


42 


FOUKD OUT. 


joke — and whichever of you did it, caniecl the thing out with un- 
common spirit!” 

‘‘It must have been one of our maids,” said Mrs. Vivien, se- 
renely, “ but it could not liave been mine. She waited on me more 
than once during the evening. And no doubt in the servants’ hall, 
enough county scandal is discussed to enable one of these people to 
plant a sting where it was certain to bo felt,” 

” But wasps sometimes sting from mere fury -or folly,” said 
Dash wood. 

” This one didn’t,” said Lord Noll, with a chuckle, “ 1 shall 
never foiget one country matron who nearly choked after a whisper 
in her ear, and stamping her skate, cried out, ‘ Me! the mother of 
nine children*?’ And she upset herself, and 1 picked her up — and 
she swore that 1 was thewmman who had uttered the vile calumny,” 
said the unwilling victim to petticoats, ‘‘and she nearly had my 
wig and mask od before 1 could back out,” 

** But of course you didn’t venture to speak?” said Lady Becky, 
with some curiosit 3 \ 

” Not 1, I nodded, giggled— once or twice forgot to be lady-like, 
and punched one or two heads. I’m afraid 1 punched yours, sir,” 

he added, turning to Mr. B , not without malicious intent, but 

the great man’s chair was empt}'’; he had noiselessly withdrawn, 
“lie has gone to say good-by to the milkmaid,” said Lady Becky. 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ Oh, ^in I had a bonny ship. 

And men to sail wV me; 

It’s I wad gang to my true love. 

Sin’ he wimia come to mei” 

At Mallinger Towers notliing but the unexpected was permitted 
to happen, so that when utter the great man’s departure, a servant 
announced that donkeys were at the door, no one expressed sur- 
prise, and all the women went to put on their hats and jackets, 
while each man went to pick out the best beast for his present 
charmer, 

Vclasciue7i was the first in the field, and had secured the strongest 
and handsomest animal long before Katharine appeared; Lord Noll 
was the next luckiest, and so by infinitesimal degrees of excellence 
(lor they were all nearly as big as mules), each ass found a tem- 
porary owner, and when the ladies descemied, they found as smart 
a set of grooms in waiting as they could well have wished. 

Only Mrs. Vivien frowned when she saw Noll at her bridle-rein, 
and she turned quickly b) their host, exclaiming; 

“ Don’t you come with us‘?” 

“ 1 join you laler,” he said, as he settled her in the saddle, ‘‘ and 
hope to find fresh roses in your cheeks= Your steed is humble,” he 
added, with a slight smile, “but a more ambitious one could not 
have kept his feet a moment on ihe iron-bound roads.” 

lie moved away as be spoke, and almost immediately the caval- 
cade started, and without confjision, since every cicidteo held liis 
lady’s bridle-rein, and if more than one eriunl glance strayed to Ve- 


FOUND OUT. 43 

lasqiiez in envy, he did not know it, as he led Katharine’s beast 
slowly down the hill. 

Probably conversation can never be more agreeably conducted, 
than when a woman rides at ease, and a man walks beside her, his 
head about on a level with her shoulder. They are alone, but they 
enjoy the pleasure ot movement; the air, the changing scene, act as 
a gentle stimulus to their thoughts and looks; and no better oppor- 
tunity could be found in which to converse, in the real sense of the 
woid, or to murmur those words of folly that sometimes outweigh 
in value the whole world’s riches, 

] think 1 should reckon real conversation as the chief intellectual 
pleasure in life. To hear, to see, to receive; to have lips, eyes, soul, 
all speaking to you at once, and to feel the power in yoursell to re- 
spond to, to eciio such speech; to be swayed by a brilliant fancy, 
thrilled by a noble thought, satisfied by a happ}’’ allusion — Aht How 
dull after such reading is the printed page, how unsatisfying Nat- 
ure’s most perfect one, since into it there is breathed no heart! 

But conversation as art did not flourish among ]\Tallinger Dash- 
wood’s guests. They could easily flirt without speaking, but few 
ot them could speak without flirting, and perhaps the only two who 
occasionally conversed were Velasquez and Katharine. From the 
first moment of their meeting there had been a curious bond be- 
tween them, and whether they remained silent w'nen together, or 
spoke little or often, there was a sense of repose, of pleakire, that 
each found missing in the society of others. 

But the man’s heart had spoken out boldly to his face from the 
first moment in which he beheld Katharine, and was he to be 
blamed if her gentle, serious altitude ot liking toward him seemed 
to indicate dawning love? He had never heard of Jack Stormonth, 
and within five minutes ot his introduction to her, a male gossip 
had told him she was fresh from schooL 

Some men might have wondered at a girl’s school fetters lasting 
till she was nineteen and a half, but Velasquez realized nothing save 
that she was his enemy’s daughter, and that at first signt he had 
fallen in love with her. How could he tell that her withdrawal 
fiom the frivolous society around was the natural shrinking from 
interruption of a preoccupied mind, or that in his quiet strength and 
reserve she found a haven to which she might flee, and be at leisure 
to think f 

Perhaps if men knew how mneb more they charm w'omen by 
their reticence than by their foolish vows, they would for the greater 
part become mule, and practice eloquence by their features alone. 
The silence that is without stupidity, the look th.it needs no word 
to second it, is better than any languaceever spoken, and Katharine 
liad unconsciously turned from uncongenial surroundings to repose 
herself mentally upon one who never taxed, and never wearied her. 

Those other men whose hold glances pursued her, only awoke in 
her a cold, proud anger that she scorned to display, and her manner 
had already assumed the dignity of a middle-aged woman rather 
than the spontaneous gayely of a girl But while the women said 
“ She is dull!” each man thought of how glorious the awakening 
would be for — Velasquez. 

More silent than usual were the tw'o w'ho led the way down mo 


44 


rOUXD OUT. 


hill, and through the village, where every cottage furnished its con- 
tingent to behold the latest of Mallinger Dasliwood's “ whims.” 

The clear air, the smalt blue sky above, and the whiteness all 
around and below, made a brilliant set-off to the costumes that, 
sufficiently good for asses, lent more color to the scene than if the 
stereotyped hat and habit were alone visible. 

” Lord!” said one of the village women, “ it minds me of the 
times when ladies always wore their best bonnets when they went 
a-horseback — and a deal decenter and handsomer they looked with 
their strings tied under their chins, than in the men’s 'ats they wear 
nowadays!” 

But there was not a village maid present that day who would not 
cheerfully have worn a bonnet, and ridden an animal that she pro- 
foundly despised, it its bridle-rein were held by such a swain as now 
strode merrily beside it. 

All the women save Katharine were laughing at the novelty of the 
situation. The cold had brought bloom to their cheeks, and fresh 
luster to their eyes; their coquettish hats and braided jackets, of 
dark blue, of red, of white, the charming little feet revealed by their 
short skirts, all combined to render them more dangerous in this 
unexpected guise than when most fully equipped for conquest. 

Not a soul, save Katharine, knew wliere the ride was to end. 
There was an Arcadian air of simplicity over the jaunt that de- 
ceived even some of those worldly people into thinking that such 
primitive amusement was preferable to the mechanical rise and 
fall, the measured beat of fashionable life; and sentiments that 
would have been virtuous if directed toward the right quarter, 
began to animate more than one fair breast, 

” What a good woman I could have been, Noll,” said Mrs, 
Vivien, sighing, ” if 1 had married a man like Dash wood, with the 
village people to look after, and a donkey to ride now and then!” 

” YouTe much better as you are,” said Lord Noll, tersely, and 
Mrs. Vivien sighed, perhaps- with some real compunction, at the 
thought of an announcement she wmuld probably have to make to 
him within a few days. 

Low ripples of laughter, a hum of pleasant voices followed Velas- 
quez and Katharine as they ascended the slight hill that gave exit 
from the village, but not a word passed between the pair till the 
level road was reached, and only the wdiite hedge-rows stood on 
either hand to listen. 

Then Katharine spoke. 

” V hy do you stay?” she said, abruptly. 

lie made her no reply, but looked straight before him. 

” We have been friends,” she said, slowly; “ from the first mo- 
ment that we met, 1 think that we were friends, and yet you are 
here as my father’s enemy, and as a spy.” 

He bowed his head as if in assent, but still preserved silence. 

” And pray,” she went on with a ring of anger in her proud 
voice, ‘‘ what could you know about — Jack? 1 suppose some of the 
people here must have gossiped to you, and perhaps you thought it 
a fine thing to decoy me to the fencing-room.” 

Veksquez turned and faced her with eyes as proud as her own. 

” No,” he said, “ 1 did nothing to bring you there; and the room 


ForxD orT. 45 

is yours. You have the right to enter it any hour of the day or 
night, but 1 — have no right.” 

” Then who forced the letter?” cried Katliarine. ” The letter in 
his dear handwriting, and thrust into my hand on the mere by a 
man taller than any (dher present, save you and my father?” 

” Perhaps it was your father,” said Velasquez, who, after long 
and stubborn thought, had resolved that he would not put Katha- 
rine to the torment of knowing that Jacic had been waiting for her 
last night, so that only by unlucky accident (hey had escaped the 
mingled bliss and misery of being clasped in each other’s arms. 

She started violently at Velasquez’s suggestion, and turned white 
as the snow around them. 

“ Then he knew — he knew it all along,” she half whispered aloud, 
” and there is a year and a half to wait — and if he is not killed m 
battle, and comes back, there is nowhere that 1 can see him, that 1 
can speak to him. Jack— 

Her lips trembled, her cheeks paled, great tears of longing 
dimmed her lovely eyes; then her head sunk, and in a gentle, timid 
voice she said: 

“ Have 1 ever said, or looked, or done anything to make you sup- 
pose that 1 should speak to you as 1 spoke last night— unless 1 had 
thought you were som#body else?” 

In spite of his wretchedness, Velasquez smiled at the naivete and 
contusion of the question. 

“You have never given me the faintest hope of such good fort 
une as seemed to fall to my lot last night,” he said gravely, “ but 
to the man who loves, all things are possible, even to the belief that 
a woman is as capable of a sudden and faithful passion as him- 
self.” 

“ Perhaps that is (rue,” said Katharine, in a low voice: “ and a 
woman’s pride is melted in her love; but only when he has declared 
his. And when 1 sued to you ” (the hot blood painted all her face) 
“ did you not feel a sense of shame and disappointment in me, rank- 
ing me with those— those wotnen who are following us?” 

“They are not women; they are butterflies,” said Velasquez, 
with contempt. Then with a sudden change of voice, “ 1 only 
thought— O, madman!— that knowing me so far beneath you, it had 
pleased vou to stoop, like the angel that you are, and* save me from 
those schemes of hatred and revenge that have imbittered and over- 
shadowed my life.” 

E atharine’s self-consciousness faded; her color sunk, .she forgot 
the burning sense of shame for herself, of irritation against him that 
had succeeded her gentle attitude to him the night belore; and look- 
ing .at him,, she was struck with the traces of habitual suffering (hat 
his face betrayed. 

“ My father has inflicted some wrong on you or yours?” she said, 
slowly. 

“1 can not tell you,” he answered in the same tone. “But 
henceforward 1 work for you and Stormonth; and my revenge, if I 
ever take it, will touch neither your happiness nor his.” 

Katharine bent her brows as one puzzled; at last she spolp. 

“ 1 am trying to understand,” she said. “ When last night I — I 
made love to you, thinking you were Jack, you— you w^ere on tlqj 


40 


FOUXt) OUT. 


point of reluming my ndvanoes, when my father’s approach sepa- 
rated us. Wheu^l returned later (and surely it is a shamelul thing 
for a girl to ao twice in the dead of niglit to meet her lover) you 
had changed; you had no happy airs; you seemed to find it natural 
that 1 had mistaken you for Jack; and, accepting the situation, you 
even swore to help us.” She paused, then added in a lower tone, 
” Such conduct was not natural.” 

Velasquez turned and looked at her. For a moment all the fierce, 
passionate love he had for her surged upward from his heart to his 
e3'es, and he said to himself that he would respect neither Jack 
Stormonth’s rights, nor any other man’s, but windier-— ay, and keep 
her in the face of all. 

But those eyes of Kitty’s, so proud, so true, checked his mad- 
ness. He knew that it was only for Jack she looked thus. Had 
not a new sweetness, an adorable loveliness come to her when she 
had lifted her arms to draw him toward her for that kiss which 
now was as far away from him as if worlds divided them? 

” You are right,” he said; ” such conduct was unnatural. Some 
day, perhaps, 1 may be able to explain it. You asked me just now 
wliy 1 remain here, and others must share your surprise. To be 

left behind as Mr. B 's paid servant, minding his goods and 

chattels like any extra or casual valet, and with less than a valet’s 
welcome.” 

” You were not born to be the servant of any man,” said Katha- 
rine, looking at him, haunted by some vague resemblance to Jack, 
that extended even further than the similar carriage of the shoulders, 
and the height that had deceived her overnight. 

” No,” he said, ” 1 w'as born to something worse— dishonor!” 

»She bareh’’ caught the last word, for it was almost drowned in a 
shout of “Velasquez! Velasquez!” from the nearest cicisbeo in the 
reiir. 

Katharine turned in her saddle, and looked back. The bright 
cavalcade moved more slowly than at starting; most of the women 
were tired of a new sensation, and onl}- hedgerow's w’-ere there to 
admire, and the keen air had made them eager for luncheon, though 
it was not yet one o’clock. 

“ Wherehqre we going?” cried out Lord Dolly. 

“Here,” said Katharine, and Velasquez stopped to unfasten a 
gate that led by a narrow road, deep with ruts, to a farm-house 
visible in the distance. 

Then ensued cries, exclamations, convulsive clutches at support 
more substantial than bridle-reins, as the asses tioundered, and 
stumbled in the ruts, so tliat i\Ialliuger’s guests reached the farm- 
house in various graceful attitudes of affection, to the delight ot the 
farm servants, who liad no idea that “ quality ” husbands could be 
so attentive to their wives. 

Katharine alone required no assistance, and had shaken hands 
with the house-mistress before the others came up. 

Half a dozen ot Dashwood’s servants were in wailing, and hur- 
ried forw'ard. 

Beyond the ample house-place showed a large and cheerful 
kitchen, wuth a blazing fire that seemed to throw' red lights on the 
crystal and silver ot the long table that faced it, and more than one 


FOUi^D OUT. 


47 


woman uttered a si. 2 :li of relief as she lifted her skirts to warm her 
feet by the burning logs. Soon hats were removed, and the splendid 
chcceleureis of gold, of black, of brown, and bronze, struck admira- 
tion into the soul of the farmer’s daughter, as in the background 
she gazed upon them. 

Meanwhile, the strings of immense onions festooned from the roof, 
the half-cured hams, the ixreat flitches of bacon, the evidences on all 
sides of the rough plenty that the house contained, amused these 
fine ladies to tlie temporary oblivion of their appetites, and they 
lliltcd about like birds, and would have extended their researches to 
the dairy had not one of the servants advanced to inform them that 
luncheon was served. 

“ Do we not wait tor Dashwood?” said Mrs. Vivien, raising her 
brows as Katharine seated herself, and Velasquez took the place at 
her right hand. 

Perhaps the cold had rriade Katharine a little deaf, for she did 
not answer the question, busying herself entirely with those slight 
duties, as hostess, that at the Towers she scarcely needed to exer- 
cise at all. But to-day, in her father’s absence, she chose to assume 
them with as much heartiness as grace. She recommended certain 
excellent farm-house disiics to her guests, and echoed the murmured 
delight of the farmer’s wife, when her guests screamed at the sight, 
of. but found sucking-pig delicious. 

It was in the midst of a burst of laughter that the door unclosed, 
and Dashwood, pale, in his dark riding dress, stood before them. 
Beyond the open house-place his black horse, flecked with foam 
and streaming with perspiration, was visible, its bridle secured to 
the wood-work of the porch. 

“You are late,’’ cried Mrs. Vivien, gayly; “ come and sit beside 
me, and you shall have some pig.” 

lie nodded to his daughter, but did not look at Velasquez, as he 
sat down by Mrs. Vivien, and declining her offers of a newly dis- 
covered delicacy, asked for one of those every-day articles of diet to 
which he was accustomed. 

The servants had forgotten nothing, and served their master as 
perfectly as if he sat at his own table; but more than one of those 
discreet servitors saw mischief in his air, and in the glance that 
from time to time he turned on Katharine and Velasquez in the 
midst of the light talk he scattered around him. 

Soon, the party broke up into little groups, and began to explore 
the farm-house and its surroundings. The servants had withdrawn, 
and only Dashwood and Mrs. Vivien were left in the kitchen, stand- 
ing on opposite sides of the hearth, and as the door closed, their 
eyes met. 

“ And l ow do you find the fencing-room by moonlight?” he said. 

For a moment her color faded, though her glance did not quail 
before him, then she said: 

“ 1 find it very well. But if one did not know the trick of the 
sliding panel, one might find it awkward to be locked in — by one’s 
host.” 

Did a lightning expression of relief cross his features as she spoke? 
She could scarcely tell, confounded as she was by the unexpected- 
ness of the attack, and with all her previously laid ffians routed by 


48 FOUisB OUT. 

some intellisence she had gathered from the newspaper just before 
starting that morning. 

“ I have sent your'" domino to your maid,” he said, negligently. 
” 1 think it must be the one — with a crreat many tucks in it — that 
Major Georges was speaking of at breakfast.” 

She made no reply; he could only see her profile as she stood look- 
ing down at the blazing logs at their feet. 

” Had 1 known that you intended lo honor my poor room, 1 would 
have provided a fire for you, and a chair,” he said, ” or rather three 
chairs, as, like yourself, Mr. Velasquez and my daughter seemed 
bitten with a taste for observing my armor last night.” 

‘‘ It is very beautiful,” she murmured, “ and 1 have a weakness for 
obsei’Ting armor — and lovers, so 1 followed Mr. Velasquez and jumr 
daughter in. T^aturally they were too much engaged with each other 
to hear or perceive my entrance, and 1 had no idea of intiuding on 
their conversation. My domino was large — and 1 am small— 1 
wrapped myself in its folds, meaning to lie until the room 

should be vacant. But my hearing is acute; 1 heard all, while 1 
saw nothing. And then you entered.” She paused, and for the 
first time since she had begun to speak, looked at him. 

” And your hearing being so acute, and my voice even more dis- 
tinct than my daughter’s, you kindly listened to my — ’wanderings,” 
he said, ” and no doubt modesty hindered your coming forward to 
give me the pleasure of your company. For you kno’w" 1 am a little 
fastidious about women, and their charm is gone when 1 see them 
masquerading as men.” 

Their eyes were held together now in a keen searching look. 
Long ago he and she had measured swords, and a quite inadequate 
bargain had been struck between them, for if she had once slight- 
ly fixed his fancy, he had fixed her regard, and while he had for- 
gotten, she had remembered, with the one supreme passion of a 
life-time. 

But if love could not hold him, a secret power might, and after 
many years of seeking for the one vulnerable spot in his soul, she 
thought she had discovered it on the evening when he came face to 
face with Mr. Velasquez. 

” Why will you. treat me as an enemy?” she said at last, in the 
voice of one wdio rather supplicates than imposes conditions. 

‘‘ 1 could never be yours,” he said gravely; ” but you treated me 
as one, wdien, under cover of a disguise, you crept constantly to my 
elbow last night, whispering mysterious questions, innuendoes, 
doubts.” 

” But the doubts are at an end,” she said, boldly, ” and a scrap 
of paper taken from a Bussian helm — ” 

” Is quite at your service,” said Dashwood, adding, as the door 
opened, and a contusion of voices and approaching steps became 
audible, ‘‘ a lady’s thefts are ahvays forgotten.” 

” Bot if her theft included liis honor,” said Mrs. Vivien, in a very 
low voice. 

‘‘No man could wish to place his honor in safer hands,” said 
Dashwood, as he turned to look at the first person who entered— a 
beautiful young girl, carrying carefully a dish of curds and wdiey, 
which she almost dropped on discovering the presence of the lord 


FOUND OUT. 


49 

of the manor. She managed, however, to conitesy very gracefully, 
and to deposit the bowl on the table without any of the male assist- 
ance that was so peiseveringly ofiered by Major Georges and Lord 
Dolly. Her eyes were bright with anger, and iiei round soft cheeks 
rosy with rage; it she had dared, she would have soundly cracked 
these gentlemen’s heads with her wooden ladle, for they had been 
chaffing her, and she was no match for their satirical banter. They 
had found out that she was one of the objects of the great man’s 
admiration, and that her soul stood in ardent need of his prayers, 
personally conducted of course, but that her mother objected to such 
intercessions, and had actually threatened him with a broomstick if 
he came “ loping lound ” any more. 

“ With eyes like gimlets, and his trousers trodden into rags at 
his heels, Miss Katliarine,” said the farmer’s wife, to come round 
my Dolly like as if he was courting her, and he an old gentleman 
who ought to be saying prayers for himself, or for the country he’s 
tried to be the ruin of!” 

Katharine laughed. 

‘‘Dolly can take care of herself,” she said; ‘‘and he is very 
harmless, both in politics and love.” 

They had lingered in the dairy together, and this was the first 
word they had got alone that day, and now the old servant whis- 
pered : 

‘‘ And as for love, miss, have you and Master Jack kept true to 
each other?” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Kitty, softly. 

‘‘ And is the master as much against it as ever?” 

” He is just the same.” 

‘‘ And have you seen him since you came back, miss?” 

” Once— and, and 1 shall never see him again.” 

” You haven’t quarreled. Miss Kitty?” said the woman, anxiously. 

” Ko, but have you not heard? ilis regiment is ordered abroad 
on active service.” 

” Yes, miss, yes,” said the farmer’s wife, briskly; ‘‘ but haven’t 
you got the news this morning?” 

“ What news?” said Katharine, stopping short, with hand pressed 
to her heart. 

” The war’s over, so Master Jack needn’t go. My man got it 
from Rtormonth Hall an hour before you came.” ■ 

” Oh!” sighed Kitty, in a long, long sigh of joy. Then she put 
both arms around the woman’s neck, and kissed her. 

” Thank you. Miss Kitty,” said the latter, gently. ‘‘ I’ll tell 
Master Jack that when 1 see him. And perhaps you’ll be seeing 
him yourself soon. ” 

“Across the width of the church, perhaps,” said Kitty, rather 
ruetully, “ but nowhere else. I have made a promise. Mary, and I 
must neither send him a message, nor write him a letter, nor make 
a tryst with him — ” 

“"Nor yet keep one?” said Mary, her shrewd, kind eyes fixed on 
the girl’s* face; “ but if you break your wmrd or no, I’m glad you 
kept that one in the fencing-room the other night.” 

“ Did Mr. Stormonth tel! you that?” said Katharine, proudly. 

“ How else could he have got to you, miss, except through me? 


POUND OUT. 




60 


Who but me, having lived in service fifteen j’^ears at the Towers, 
knows the ins and outs of the fencing-ronm, or how ’twas possible 
for Master Jack to get into it? And who but me could have got 
the letter safe to j'^our hand, when eveiy servant in the house has 
got his orders about you?” 

Katbarine colored brilliantly. 

” So my father does not trust me,” she said half aloud. 

‘‘ Well, Miss Kitty,” said 31ary, “ wdien Master Jack rushed in 
here all pale and distracted about five o’clock that afternoon, and 
said he must see you or die before he went abroad (for he only got 
my letter that morning saying master had brought 5’'ou back to the 
Towers), and how there was only one safe place he knew of, and 
that was the fencing-room, and could 1 get a note to your hand 
within an hour, I put on my cloak and hood, and he just hitched 
me up on his arm, and bundled me along through the snow, for it 
was dark as pitch. So that 1 was breathless when 1 got into the 
housekeeper’s room, with his letter safe in my pocket. 1 knew that 
if the master caught me taking anything to you, he would turn ir.y 
man out of the farm at the first opportunity, so I was puzzled how 
to manage it, for your maid might find it first it I hid it among 
your clothes, or put it on your table. Just then jour little pug 
trotted into the room, and a thought struck me. The housekeeper 
had been called away,’ and picking up the dog 1 stole, by ways I 
knew of, to your corridor and knocked at your door. You said, 

‘ Come in!’ and 1 half opened it and said,.* Are you alone, miss?’ 
and you said, * Yes.’ Then 1 pul the letter into the dog’s mouth, 
and pushed him into the room. 1 heard you get up and make an 
exclamation; then 1 pulled the door close, and ran down for my life. 
After 1 came down, the housekeeper said, ‘ Miss Katharine will be 
vexed not to have seen you, Mary, but master does not allow any 
one to see her without his express permission.’ But 1 told her 1 had 
no doubt you would be coming to see me one of these days, little 
thinking how sooji that would be. But all last night 1 was quaking 
for fear lest he’d be caught up at the Towers.” 

” Last night!” said Kitty, turning very pale; ** but he had gone 
back to rejoin his regiment, and men do not get leave when they 
are under marching orders. 1 could not think how he got that one 
night.” 

‘‘llis colonel and General Stormonlh are old friends,” said 
Mary. ‘‘Perhaps that accounts for it. But the morning after 
Master Jack got back to his regiment, a telegram came saying the 
general was dying, so oft he stinted here again, but by the lime he 
gets to the Hall, the general is better, and quite out of danger.” 

Katharine stood pale and breathless, looking through the dia- 
mond-shaped panes of glass at the afternoon now quickly closing 
in, that a tew momenta ago had shown to her like the opening of a 
fresh spring morning. 

‘‘ I was silling by the fire knitting,” went on Mary, “ about nine 
o’clock last night, when the door opcn(;d, and w'ho should \valk in 
but IMaster Jack! He’d got on a coat above his evening dress, and 
over his arm some loose black thing that he told me was a domino, 
and then he showmd me a mask, and said he was going up to the 
Towers to join in the masked bull, where he could get a word with 


FOrXD OUT. 


51 


you, and nobody be the wif?er. He looked pale and said, ‘ ll’s a 
f'lie thing logo straight from a sick-bed to a ball, isn’t it, ]\Iary? 
Hut the dear old father’s better, and she is first, she always be 
first with rue,’ Then he went away, and when 1 got tlie message 
this mornins: from the Towers that the house party would require 
the use of the kitchen for luncheon, my heart sunk, tor 1 thought 
the masfi'r had found it all out. and was coming here to punisli me. 
But 1 saw at once by your face that it was all right,” added Mary, 
briskly; ” and now 3 mu’ll be happ}’-, knowing he is safe at home.” 

Katharine turned suddetjly. Mr. Velasquez was on the thresliold; 
apparently he had been waiting without for her during this inter- 
view, and his patience was growing exhausted. For tiie first time 
the patierrt. steady attendance on her that both he and she had come 
to accept as natural, jarred suddenly and violently on Katharine, 
and showed her in a false position to her own eyes. 

” 1 will come presently,” she said coldly, and he bowed and 
went out. 

‘‘ Who is that gentleman. Miss Kilty?” exclaimed Mary, sharply; 
” but there’s no need to ask his name, only how came he to be slop- 
ping in your falher’t house?” 

” That is Mr. Velasquez,” said Kitty, too absorbed in her 
thoughts to notice Mary’s tone. 

‘‘JNo, it is Mr. Fitzhugh,” said Maiy, with growing excitement; 
” whatever he may call himself, he’s a Fitzhugh. Don’t I know 
their faces as well, and even better than the Dashwoods'? And 
that gentleman is the living image, except tor complexion and black 
e^'es, of the Fitzhugh who was killed— who died, 1 mean, in the 
fencing-room at the Towers. And I’ll swear that he is of the same 
blood and race as Master Jack.” 

Katharine started. For a minute she stood looking down, and 
thinking deeply', then a light flashed over all hei features, and she 
colored as if with shame, but not for herself, and lifted her head 
proud I 3 ’'. 

” It he is a Fitzhugh, Mary, he has different ideas of honor to— 
Master Jack. Perhaps he takes after his father — ” and then she 
stopped, hating hersef for the ungenerous speech, and moved to re- 
turn to the house. 

” Are you quite so sure, IMiss Kilty, that he 'icas so dishonored?” 
said Mary, curiously. ” I was your mother’s maid then, and 1 saw 
him often—” she paiised and a peculiar expression cro.ssed her laca*. 

” Let us go in,” said Katharine, ” or my father will suspect us.” 

At the kitchen door they parted, and Velasquez followed her in. 


CIIAFTFJi XVI. 

“ Ye thocht tliat I was like youi’self 
And loving ilk ane 1 did see: 

But here I swear by the Heaven’s clear, 

I never loved a man b\it thee.” 

All the ladies retired to their rooms on the return from the farm- 
liouse, for the frosty air had tired them, and below stairs the men 
jiiade merry after their kind in the smoking-room, and thanked 


Heaven to be saved afternoon tea. Two of the women dismissed 
their maids quickly, and drank no tea that afternoon, and both, 
though from very different points of view, w'cre eagerly reviewing 
the scenes enacted in the fencing-room overnight. 

Let us yield i\\Q pas to the guest of the house, as she sits think- 
ing, thinking, as never in all her frivolous life has .she thought be- 
fore. Like a panorama the last ten years of her life unrolled, and 
she saw herself, as maid, wife, and "widow, preferring Dashwood 
to any other man she hud ever met, but always conscious that, 
however she miglit attract him, she had no talisman by which to 
reach his heart. It was notorious that he had not loved his wife, 
and, if he amused himself, it was so negligently that he seemed to 
feel the trouble more than the pleasure of his ties, and she had 
never suspected the deeply rooted influence of any other woman in 
his life until she had heard Fitzhugh’s story, told by Dashwood’s 
neighbor. Then, at a bound, .she had leaped to the truth, and 
later, with a still bolder flight, made up her mind that Velasquez 
was Fitzhugh's son. 

It was on these convictions that she had acted at the masked 
ball, and in her male disguise stolen hither and thither, whispering 
her doubts and suspicions, but it was only by seeing the curious 
effect her words had on both Dastiwood and Velasquez, that she 
began to seriously suspect the former of having, by false means, 
brought about his’ friend’s self-destruction. Later, as she was try- 
ing to regain her bedroom uuperceived, she found herself entangled 
in dark corridors, from which she strove to escape, until she heard 
steps approaching, when she drew back, but to her terror they 
halted opposite her. The next moment she heard a grating, sliding 
sound, a step or two forward as through a door, and then the same 
sliding sound, and she knew hei’self alone. 

But she had scarcely recovered, when a lighter footfall seemed to 
approach, and the flicker of a candle showed, and sopn, looking 
neither to the right nor left, a tall figure in a white silk mask and 
domino paused at the same spot opposite the hider, and with one 
trembling hand shading the light, so that it fell on a ])articular 
panel, pr'essed a thumb" on it, and at the same moment the light 
went out, and a cold current of wind rushed to meet Mrs. Yivii.m 
as, without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped noiselessly through 
the aperture close to Katharine, and into the thick darkness imme- 
diately beyond. 

In the turmoil and excitement of her nerves, strained toward one 
point, Katharine heard and felt nothing; she swiftly closed the 
panel, and ran forward to meet her lover, but met instead — Velas- 
quez. Scarcely a word uttered in the room that night was lost on 
Mrs. Vivien; lying shrouded in her cloak against the wall she heard 
all. and, like another .Tael, telt that anotha* Sisera was given over 
into her hand, wdien she found herself in possession of the scrap of 
paper that she felt certain held the clew to the real truth of the 
tragedy consummated in that room. 

But the clew had been snatched from her before she had nrop- 
erly seized it. She shuddered even now at the thought of the" cold 
band that had touched hers, and which she took to be that of the 
dead man’s— but she wished now that it had been his, or that of 


FOUND OUT. 


58 

any living man save Jack Stormont n. Here was a power by which 
he could compel Dashwood to give him Katharine, and was it likely 
the lover would fail to turn his knowledge to such profit? Then her 
chances were ruined. If the young fool had gone abroad, she 
might yet have made her game, but with him at home, perhaps in 
the immediate neighborhood, she could not be safe for a moment. 
And without that scrap of paper she could prove nothing, and all 
her suppositions would be laughed to scorn by all reasonable peo- 
ple, while Dashwood would smile at, and defy her. Nevertheless — 
and here she set her teeth hard — she would play out her cards as 
gayly as if the most intrepid heart, certain of success, beat in her 
breast, and by the time the first dressing-bell rang she had settled 
her plan of action, and decided on the moment "(not far distant) 
when she should commence the attack. 

And naturally she had never been so fastidious before as to the 
shape of her gown, and the complexion of her looks, so that her 
maid wondered if she had found fresh swains to conquer, and pres- 
ently inquired in the servants* hall what new gentlemen were ex- 
pected that night. 

Meanwhile Kathaiine, too, w^as alone, divided between joj’’ that 
Jack w\as not going away, and terror lest he should have supposed 
her to have made an assignation with Mr. Velasquez in the fencing- 
room before she received his letter. 

For surely he had been angry with her, or why did he not come 
forward, even though a stranger was present? Why did he let her 
lilt up her arms, even hold up her face (oh! how that poor face 
blushed at the thought) to Velasquez as her lover when a few’ steps 
would have brought him to her side? He must have doubted her — 
doubted her ! She wrung her hands at the thought. And he must 
have been inflexible in his anger, or why, when she stole there 
for the second time, did he not come to meet her? But bitterest, 
crudest thought of all, she had been so near to the bliss of his 
voice, his touch, yet had missed both, and she could have sobbed 
for the loss of that hour of happiness, the sole one, perhaps, that she 
might have a chance of, befoie she came of age I 

Then her tears turned to anger against Mr. Velasquez, that he 
must have knowm Jack was there, but held his peace both then, and 
during their conversation this morning. Perhaps he looked upon 
this affair as so purely clandestine that, from a sense of delicacy and 
regard tor her feelings, he did not allude to it, and if her opinion of 
him was bad, pray what must his be oi her? 

Yet never had she carried her head higher than when, full ten 
minutes before the dinner hour, she descended to the drawing-room, 
intent on having a few words alone with her father It w’as his 
habit tc enter the room some minutes before his guests, anrl his 
daughter found him there to-night, rather near the door, and bend 
ing over some portraits m enamel of the most famous beauties of 
his house. She approached him; as he looked up, she said, in a 
low, clear voice. 

“ Father, 1 have broken my promise tc you, in the spirit if not in 
the letter of our agreement. I have met Jack Stormonth once, and 
should have met him a second time had he kept the appointment.’ 


54 


FOUND OUT. 


“ Where did 3^011 meet him?” s:ud Dashwood turniug sharply on 
his dauirhter. 

‘‘ .In tlio fencin^^-room.” 

He put his hand to liis breast as if in momentary pain; then he 
said, in his usual cynical tones: 

‘‘ Could you not have found a more agreeable rendezvous? And 
may 1 inquire the dales of these meetings?” 

” The first was on the evening that your guests arrived; the 
second was to have been last night.” • 

A shade of pallor crept around Dashwood’s thin lips, but his 
voice was as usual when he said, ” Since j'ou are so explicit, rr.ay 1 
ask during what hours Mr. Stormontli enjoyed the shelter of my 
roof last night?” 

”] cannot tell you,” said Katharine, with perfect calmness; 
” when 1 arrived, I tound the rooms occupied to all appearances by 
Mr. Velasquez only. But 1 wish to say to you, that if 1 was hurried 
by excitement into meeting him the first time, nothing can excuse 
in}' willingness to do so on a second occasion, and you need not bolt 
and bar the door of the fencing or any other room against me, for 
1 will make or keep no other tryst with Mr, Stonnonlh until ” (her 
voice sunk to one of purest love) ” my twenty-first birthday.” 

‘‘ Your assurances come loo late,” said Dash wood, in a low voice 
that seemed to freeze her, so full of menace, of hatred, of even de- 
spair, was it; but the next moment he had advanced to meet Mrs. 
Vivien, who looked even more lovely and listless than usual, 

” Do I interrupt an interesting conversation?” she said, looking 
from one to the other, and acutely realizing what a mistake she had 
made in neglecting to take Katharine into her calculations. 

“We were discussing a topic that threatens to become tiresome 
by repetition,” said Dashwood; then, turning to Katharine, added, 
“ Did you feel any angelic presence near you last night? Because, 
though invisible, Mrs. Vivien was in jmur company for a consider- 
able time in the iencing-roora.” 

Both women turned white as the dresses they wore, but Katha- 
rine’s was the pallor of deep humiliation, while Mrs. Vivien’s eyes 
were fixed on Dashwood with so curious a gaze that the girl felt as 
one suddenly thrust outside some drama in which, up to that mo- 
ment, she had. been taking no insignificant part, and she moved 
away, leaving her father and his guest face to face. 

“ So you defy me, Dashwood?” said JMrs. Vivien. 

“My dear lady,” he said, “ why will you be so melodramatic, 
and make a tragedy out of a trifle?" \ou hear a story, you get cer- 
tain suspicions into your charming head, you put on a very iinconr- 
fortable dress in order to confide those suspicions, then you lie for 
some hours in a very uncomfortable position in order to verify them; 
but you only surprise two lovers, both in love, though not necessa- 
rily with one another, and 3 ’ou overhear the soliloquy of an elderly 
gentleman, and connect it with a sci’ap of paper that, for whim’s 
sake, he keeps in a battered Russian helmet. AVitli the acquisitive- 
ness of your lovely sex, 3^11 proceed to confiscate tliis bit of paper 
as soon as my back is turned — ” he paused, then with an abrupt 
chanire of voice and countenance, added, ” or did Stormontli take 
it?” 


F0U2sD OUT. 55 

The question stabbed her like a sword-thrust unexpectedly deliv- 
ered, and lor a moment she staggered under it, then she said: 

“ Pray, who is Mr. Stormonth, and what should 1 know of his 
doiagsV” 

But Dashwoou had discovered all that he desired, or that he did 
not desire to know. 

Fury raged in hia heart, as he smiled and left her, to welcome 
some new guests who had arrived from town that afternoon, and 
whom he now introduced to ids daughter. 

All the women, with two exceptions, were in high spirits that 
evening, and their complexions so fresh that another donkey ride 
miglit have been projected had not some signs of a thaw set in, re- 
joicing the men’s hearts and holding up a lively prospect of scarlet 
coats and a run with the hounds very shortly. 

It so happened that Mrs. Vivien and Mi. Velasquez were placed 
side by side, and the opportunity she had desired came. 

“ How do you like Mr. Stormonth?” she said as coolly as if she 
had asked how he liked the change in the weather. 

” He seems a very good fello\y,” said Mr. Velasquez, after a mo- 
ment’s pause; ” no doubt you are acquainted with him in town?” 

“Not 1,” said Mrs. Vivien; “my acquaintance with him is 
limited to an interview,- very brief, in the fencing- rooi'n last night.” 

Velasquez started, and looked at her. 

“ Then you arrived there after 1 left?” he said, quietly. 

“ On the contrary, I arrived early, and, expecting nothing, found 
a vast deal to interest and — enlighten me.” 

“ It was fortunate,” said Velasquez, coldly, “ that other persons 
— and matters — than yourself were discussed. You will pardon my 
reminding you of the old adage — ” 

“There is another,” retor;ed Mrs. Vivien, “that 1 prefer. It 
runs thus ‘ Two is company, three is tinmpery.’ ” 

“ In this instance there would seem to be four, or perhaps six,’' 
said Mr. Velasquez, with perfect composure, “ for to my knowl- 
edge you are the fifth person who was present last night.” 

“ Who knows how many followed us?” said Mrs. Vivien, shrug- 
ging her shoulders; “ but I have a word of advice for you. Don't 
give Katharine Dash wood up because there has been some boy and 
girl nonsense between her and Stormonth.” Then she turned to the 
man next her, and left Velasquez to recover from the disagreeable 
shock of knowing that theprofoundest secrets of his life were bared 
to the eyes of a woman to whom the keeping of a secret was prob- 
ably impossible. 

Across the pure white flowers that decorated the table, he had 
more than once sought in vain to catch Katharine’s glance, 
but she seemed engrossed with the new arrival from town, and had 
never showed so brilliantly, or in such good spirits, as to-night. 

Long ago the men in the house had fitted her with the title of a 
“ contemnlative charmer,” and by this they did not mean that she 
contemplated them, but herself. Now there is a story told of a gen- 
tleman of color wdio was so enamored of his own beauty that he 
spent his w'hole time gazing into a pool, until his mistress, burning 
with pity at her own neglected charms, broke his repose by rudely 
bouncing into his looking glass, and so muddying its waters, that 


FOUND OUT. 


56 

liis own image disappeared, and he was torced to the contemplation 
of hers. 

No such interruplion had apparently come to disturb our charmer 
in that quiet self-contemplation, or rather, self-communing, that 
made her move like one apart in the midst of thegayety around her; 
even her constant companionship with Velasquez did not suggest, 
save to very superficial eyes, any serious interest in him, and one 
by one the men ceased to concern themselves about so cold and 
preoccupied a Diana. 

But Katharine, bright, alive, with joy in her eyes to match the 
roses in her cheeks, with words of wit on her lips, and music in the 
happy voice whose laughter was frequently heiird during dinner, 
was a creature so radiant and lovely that, as lesser lights pale when 
the fair queen of night rises on the horizon, so did she outshine all 
others present, wherefore jealousy ruled the female, and admiration 
the male, bosoms, that surrounded Dashwood’s table that night. 

He alone appeared to notice no difterence in his daughter, and 
was his usual self, neither gayer nor sadder than usual, and no one 
could have guessed the thoughts that came and went in his brain, 
or see the specter that stood behind his chair, and whispered a single 
word over and over again into bis car. 

In the drawihg-room Katharine's manner changed, as if under a 
freezing influence. She did not pretend to understand these fine 
ladies, nor their shibboleth, nor their stories, nor the absence of 
their lords, but she had disapproved less of Mrs. Vivien than the 
rest, since she was a widow, and free to follow her own devices, 
even tliough they might be of no very elevated kind. 

But to-night Katharine felt only indignatinn against a woman 
who could so easily play the part of an eavesdropper, and her eyes 
expressed a very sincere contempt as INIrs. Vivien presently ap- 
proached, and took the vacant place beside her. 

“ Miss Dashwood,” she said, “ you are angry, and justly so. But 
it was with no thought of spying on you that I went to the fencing- 
room last night.” 

” Vet you remained to listen,” said Katharine, coldly. 

‘‘ Because retreat was next to impossible.” 

” Then 1 should have advanced,” said Katharine, more coldly 
still, but longing wildly to ask Mrs. Vivien ir she had seen duck. 

IVlrs. Vivien shrugged her shoulders. ‘‘ There are positions,” she 
said, ” where masterly inactivity is the best policy, and this was one 
of them. But 1 was soriy,” she went on, in a different and gentler 
tone, ‘‘ that your father should have come and spoiled your tryst.” 

” Did Jack come alter 1 left?” cried Katharine, the words spring- 
ing inepressibly from her lips. 

‘‘ Is Mr. Valesquez’s name Jack?’ said Mrs. Vivien, opening her 
eyes. 

‘‘ 1 meant Mr. Stormonth, the man to whom 1 am engaged,” said 
Kalharine, proudl 3 ^ 

” A-h!” said Mrs. Vivien, with a peculiar change of countenance. 

” Do you know him?” said Katharine, fecling'a little cold, she 
knew not why. 

‘‘.No, but ] hear of him very often. Is he not in the — th regi- 
ment?” 


FOUXD OITT. 


57 


“Yes.” 

“ About the fastest regiment in the line. And you are engaged to 
him?” added ]\lrs, Vivien, in a tone of incredulity, 

“Is there any reason why 1 should not be?” said Katharine, 
haughtily. 

“None that 1 know of,” said Mrs. Vivien, adding in a half 
aside, “ and Miss Dashwood is an heiress!” 

“ Have you been engaged long*”’ turning her blue eyes full of 
pity upon Katharine, who had scorned to notice her last words, 

“ 1 think that you need not concern yourself about that matter in 
the least, Mrs. Vivien.” 

“ Really? But it may concern a friend of mine, the prettiest creat- 
ure in a furiously dark style that 1 ever saw. And 1 believe she 
had good reasons for believing herself as good as engaged to Mr, 
Stormonth a month ago. You see she lives at Farnbro’; and with 
men, absence does not make the heart grow fonder, and 1 think 
your father said you had been at school abroad for the last two 
years?” 

But Katharine had moved away, and soon was the center of a 
knot of men, not one of whom found it possible to leave her, for 
she had suddenly developed some airs of a coquette, however state- 
ly', and when the party presently sat down to “ nap,” she was the 
life and soul oE the game. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“ ‘ Leave aff your pride, Margaret,’ he sa}’s, 

‘ Use it not ony mair. 

Or, when ye come where I hae been, 

You will repent it sair,’ ” 

The frost had broken up with a will, and a hunt breakfast was 
going forward at Mai linger Tow^ers. 

The scene was one of indescribable bustle, movement, and color; 
the rapid arrivals, the hearty greetings, mingling with the hum of 
talk among those already seated, the quickly moving servants, and 
the now dull, now brilliant, scarlet of the inen’s coats, lighting up 
the Lincoln green or the sober blue of the women’s habits: the black- 
ened oak serving as foil to the massive silver that flanked the side- 
board, or shone in brighter shape among flowers upon the long table 
so richly spread witli all that hungry^men could desire, and over 
all a brilliant January sun streaming in through ihe broad window, 
of which the upper panes were of red, and gold, and purple. 

Dashw'ood was in his place as host; apparently careless, but over- 
looking nothing and nobody, he f nlfillea his duties with a grace and 
cordiality that made him appear more than ever distinct from the 
ordinary men who surrounded him, the only one present who 
touched, but did not surpass, him, being Mr. Velasquez. 

IMore than one puzzled glance was turned on that young man as 
he assisted Katharine at her tea equipage, and more than one coun- 
try neighbor said to another, “ What an extraordinary resemblance, 
by Jove!” but on hearing his name, concluded himself mistaken, 
and returned to the pleasures of the table. Each moment brought 
fresh arrivals, fresh greetings; the room at last v.'as so crowded that 


58 FOUND OUT. 

if. was a relief when the movement for a start was made, and all got 
(o liorse, and rode away. 

T he “ mc<^t ” was held at about a mile’s distance from the Tow- 
ers, and as Katharine trotted between Mr. Velasquez and a neigh- 
boring squire, she began to understand why Englishmen love fox- 
hunting, and how tiie typical fox-hunter, the object of cultured per- 
sons’ disdain, is thoroughly happy, and with good reason. If his 
face is round, and his bodj'’ is rounder, he has eyes and soul enough 
to rejoice in the de vy morning, the fresh smell of the earih, and the 
aromatic scent of the plants he treads under foot; he sniffs up the 
air, now keen, now soft, as if it were Nature’s physic, and he feels 
no care as he jogs along the lanes, perhaps to a hunt breakfast 
(though such a {reat is rare), but always with the certainty that he 
will find pleasant company when he reaches his destination, while 
the hopes of good sport animate his honest breast. ‘ He meets his 
neighbors, there is some tedious waiting perhaps, beguiled by a pull 
from a flask, then at that most melodious cry of “ Gone away!” he 
settles down in his saddle, lels his horse go, and enjoys himself more 
in the next twenty minutes (it the run is good) than did ever any 
pale student in most ardent pursuit of a discovery. Perhaps there 
is no ” find ” at all, only a tiresome series of balks,” and he goes 
home at the close of the shoit winter’s day without having seen even 
the tip of Peyiiard’s tail; but no matter! He has lived the day, he 
has breathed the air, and he is happy as he wends his way home- 
ward to a good sound dinner followed by a sounder sleep, in which 
he dreams of better sport on the morrow, 

“ So you haven’t forgotten how to ride. Miss Kitty?” said Squire 
Dalgety, regarding her with entire approbation. 

” Didn’t you teach me?” she said, turning so fresh a face upon 
her old friend as should have blinded him to the trouble in her eyes, 
but his own were keen, and he saw it, and perhaps was not sorry. 

” Didn’t f teach you both?” said the squire, lowering his voice, 
although (tor the hine was narrow) Velasquez had diopped behind. 

” Who was the other?” said Kitty. 

‘‘Who else?” cried Squire Dalgety, growing warm; “ w’ho got 
you packed olT to school when you were over seventeen years old, 
because he wanted to marry you, and you uni; who has been wait- 
ing for you, like patience on a monument, these two years, and 
would wait a dozen more; who else, pray, but Jack Stormonth?” 

” Oh, Jack!” said Kitty, slightingly. 

‘‘And pray, Miss Kilty,” said the squire, facing round, ‘‘ what 
has he done to offend you?" 

“Oh, nothing!” said Kitty, in the tone that implies ‘‘ every- 
thing.” 

” Perhaps you’ve changed your mind,” said Squire Dalgety, dry- 
ly, ” and that handsome fellow riding behind us has something to 
do with it. He is confoundedly like the Pitzhughs, though, it he is 
one, it’s precious bad taste his showing up in tfiis neighborhood.” 

‘‘ Hush!” said Kitty, for during the past few days, in which Mjs. 
Vivien had contiived to distil some moie diops of venom into her 
niiud, the girl had gone back to her first friendship for, and trust 
in, Velasquez, and tinctured too by a warmer sentiment, the senti- 
ment of pity. 


FOUND OUT. 


59 


Then if Jack’s to be thrown overboairl,” said Squire Dalgety, 
nodding angrily, “ 1 wish that, while he has been kicking his heels 
waiting for you, he had amused himself better. There are girls 
hereabouts that — ” 

“ Perhaps he preferred to amuse himself in town,” said Kitty, 
serenely; and then no more was said, tor Velasquez joined them, 
and ill a few minutes they had reached the scene of the ” meet,” 

A scratch assemblage had gathered outside a village public-house 
situaied on a gently rising ascent, whence at some distance branched 
off roads and lanes, and the usual riff-raff of the idle neighborhood 
attended, watching with avid interest the huntsman with his hounds, 
and the people who, irrespective of the party from the Towers, con- 
stituted the ” meet ” that day. 

These persons were, first, a farmer on a cob; secondly, a woman 
in honest petticoats and a jacket, on a stout pony; thirdly, a boy 
on a iShetland; and fourlhly, a youmi man who sat his magnificent 
bay squarely, and with a sturdy look that signified it would take a 
good deal to move him from his present situation. 

He was not in scarlet, and, in point of tact, his father was very 
ill at that moment, but he saw in this no reason why he should not 
be present; tor Kitty was first, and he would see hef, and get a 
glint of her bright eyes, it nothing more; so there he sat sturdily, 
and cared for nobody— but Kitty, 

Yet when the van of the bright cavalcade from the Tow^ers, num 
bering in all about two hundred, had come up quickly, and gradu- 
ally scattered hither and thiiher, but left a clear space to the hum- 
ble followers of the chase before mentioned, though many a greet- 
ing was sung out to Jack Stormonth, he replied but by a nod, or a 
touch of his whip to his hat, for he was watching tor Katharine, 
who, when she came, Velasquez at her side, did not see him, 

she see him? Is love so blind as we think? Does he not 
make us hear when we can not see, and feel when we can not hear? 

Jack sat immovable, hardly knowing it he were most angry or 
most hurt. She seemed so really unconscious ot his presence that 
he could not ascribe her absorption in Velasijuez to coquetry, and 
as the minute or two of waiting before the start passed, he felt the 
more convinced that she had not seen him, but resolved to make her 
look at him before the day was done. 

lie had not meant to follow the hounds, but only to see her; to 
c.xchange one long look, and ride away; but now he had changed 
his mind, and fell in with the rest when the huntsman galloped 
forward, leading the way to Dingley woods. 

” Why, man!” cried a cheery voice near him, “ are 5 ^ou going to 
your own funeral?” and Jack turned to find Squire Dalgety ’s face 
at his elbow. 

” b^ot 1,” said Jack, laughing; “ but 1 dare say 1 shall get a spill. 
1 alwa 3 "s do, you know,” 

” How is your father?” 

“ Better, init still very ill.” 

” Humph !” grunted Squire Dalgety, ” then why are you here?” 

“ 1 came to see a young lady,” said Jack, audaciously. 

” And the young lady' won’t see you,” said the squire, with an- 


60 


FOUJfD OUT. 


other ^rrunt of dissatisfaction; “ what have 3'^ou been up to in town, 
young man?” 

” Oh, nothing, sir, nothing!” 

There was a slight flush on Jack’s cheek, that seemed to belie his 
words, and the squire shook his head. 

” Dash wood’s a fool,” he said, ” to keep you so long apart; but 
1 should have thought almost any man might have kept straight for 
the sake of a Kitty Dashwood. And 1 can’t make that fellow 
out,” he added, nodding at Velasquez, who, with Katharine, was 
far ahead; ” he calls himself by a foreign name, and hoks every inch 
a Fitzhugh. Yet Dashwood receives him, and lets the young peo- 
ple be together to their hearts’ content. Is he afraid of the fellow?” 
added the squire, turning sharply, and fixing suspicious eyes on 
Jack. 

The young man hesitated. He could not betray his cousin, whose 
secret was his own, but he did feel that he hated him very heartily 
as he looked at the two dwindling backs before him, and the demon 
of jealousy was gnawing at his heart each moment with sharper 
fangs. 

” 1 don’t think Mr: Dashwood is in the habit of being afraid of 
anybody,” he ^aid, “ and I think you are judging Kitty— Miss Dash- 
wood— without a hearing.” 

” Humph!” said the squire again, ” 1 am not so sure about that, 
1 rode up with her, and she dropped a wmrd or two, and 1 gave her 
a hearing of course, and unsatisfactory enough it was.” 

“ She w'a.« faithful enough to me less than a week ago,” said 
Jack, stoutly, then checked himself, and by the friskings of his 
horse contrived to put a space between himself and the squire that 
rendered further conversation impossible. In the halt outside the 
w’oods he found himself so close to Katharine that he could hear 
her voice, and admire, as he willed, the exquisite shape in its gray 
habit, the lovely face beneath the gray hat, and the skill with which 
she managed the fiery black horse that not another w oman present 
could have ridden. But in point of fact he did not admire her at all 
just then. ‘‘ If she be not lair for me, what care 1 how fair she 
be?” and he longed to give her a good shaking, and a large piece 
of his mind. 

A good many wompn present had been wondering who w^as this 
handsome, determined-looking young man who seemed to know-^ so 
many people, yet had not been included in the invitations to the 
hunt, breakfast at tne Tow^ers. More than one roving glance ot ad- 
miration played on him, and perhaps he was not quite unconscious 
of the unwonted loveliness around him, but for the present, at least, 
he would leave the honors of jilting with the faithless Kitty, and 
take his own revenge by and by. 

A woman who did not cast eyes at him, or, indeed, seem to be 
aw'are of his presence, was Mrs. Vivien' yet by imperceptible de- 
grees she contrived to get so near to him that she was only a few 
yards behind when the deep baying of the hounds proclaimed a 
” find,” and without ceremony the field pushed forward to follow. 

Bui w’hoever followed Jack'Stormonth that day must have ridden 
far and fast, though not fast enough to overtake a certain gray habit 


FOUisD OUT. 61 

that fluttered almost recklessly in the very van of the field, and later 
came in at the death of one of the best runs of the season. 

Storraonth mi^jht have been present but that, aher leaping a 
brook, a female voice in accents of distress pursued him, and he 
turned back to find Mrs. Vivien seated on the ground, nursing her 
ankle, while from the other side of the water her steed. gazed at her 
as it deploring the accident that had taken her over, but left him- 
self behind. 

“ That brute has thrown me,” said the lady, with a very good 
imitation of tears in her eyes, ” and 1 believe my ankle is twisted or 
broken, and how am 1 to get home?” 

” A.h!” said Jack, ” 1 remember you.” 

” It would be more to the point, sir,” she said tartly, “if you 
were to assist me.” 

He groaned inwardly as he turned and saw the iast straggler of 
the hunt disappearing; in a few moments his chance would be over 
of seeing Kitty again that day, and he did not believe this woman 
was hurt in the least. 

” If you will let me put you on my horse, I will lead him round to 
where you can mount your own,” said Jack, adding rather heart- 
lessly, ” and then no doubt you will be able to follow with the 
rest.” 

“Brute!” said Mrs. Vivien, with a flash of the eye that should 
have slain him, but he only picked her up as if she were a child, 
set her in the saddle, and, putting his arm through the reins, 
brought her by a somewdiat roundabout way to the spot w’here her 
steed should have been, but was not. 

“ Confound it!” said Jack, under his breath, heartily, and Mrs. 
Vivien turned her head aside to avoid a smile. At the distance of 
a couple of fields her smart nag was making a beo line for the 
Towers, having evidently hunted to his stomach’s content. 

“What is to be done?” said Mrs. Vivien, turning a concerned 
face on the young man. “ 1 have spoiled your day, and 1 have got 
your horse, and how are you to walk all that way back on foot?” 

Jack’s good-humor was returning. To be sure, his chance of 
seeing Kitty was gone, but, on the other hand, he had ardently 
wished for the opportunity of meeting Mrs. Vivien again, and now 
he had got it. 

“ I can manage the walking,” he said, “ if you can manage the 
saddle.” Then, in stooping to shorten the left stirrup, he dis- 
covered that the lady had as remarkably pretty a foot as he hud 
already discovered her to be a remarkably lovely woman. 

“ What is her game?” he thought as he gave her the reins, and 
walked beside her "on the thick wet grass, while she looked at him 
over her shoulder, and wmndered if he had about his person that 
precious bit of paper which she coveted above everything in the 
world. 

“ Do you know that you are in my debt?” she said to him sud- 
denly. 

“ Only for the honor of your company,” said Jack, “ on this and 
a former occasion.” 

“ And on the former occasion,” said Mrs. Vivien, “ you snatched 
(and it’s not a pretty word, but it exactly expresses the truth) a 


62 


FOUND OUT. 


paper from me, and 1 ask you as a gentleman to give me tliat paper 
back.” 

“ Unfortimatcly,” said .lack, dryly, “ 1 was auditor, if not actual 
witness, to the theft of tliat paper from a place where Mr. Dash- 
wood had a few minutes before placed it for safety. 1 therefore 
consider it iny duty to restore it to him as the real owner.” 

She could have struck him with her gauntleted hand as he walked 
beside her; if lie had turned, he must have seen the passion that de- 
formed her face, but he was looking straight before him, and her 
voice was natural when she said: 

” You know’ the contents of the paper, of coui’se?” 

‘‘Do you?” he said, turning his head to look at her. 

” Mallinger Dash wood and I have few secrets from each other,” 
she said calmly, ‘‘ but tins 1 can tell you, that your giving him 
back that paper will make you impossible to him as a son-in-law.” 

‘‘ And why?” exclaimed Jack, startled. 

‘ Is he a man to be forced to anything at the sword’s point? Let 
alone, he may relent long before liis daughter is of age, but show 
him that you think you have hini in your pow^er, and he. will allow 
her to drift into a marriage with Mr. Velasquez.” 

‘‘Impossible!” cried Jack; ‘‘there are reasons — ” he checked 
himself, then said: ‘‘ and you appear to be reckoning without Miss 
Dash wood’s consent,” 

He wvas looking hard at Mrs. Yivicn now, and he caught the 
flutter of the ej^elids, the faint drooping of the lips, and otlier in- 
tangible signs by which a woman expresses so much more than she 
dares to say. 

” You inean that her consent would bo forthcoming?” said poor 
Jf.ck, hoarsely, .and stopping short in the iridst of the plow’ed field 
into which he had plunged. 

‘‘ He IS very good-looking,” said j\Irs. Vivien, thoughtfully, ‘‘ and 
very fascinating, and he is alw^ays beside her, and you are ahvays 
away.” 

Jack laughed and tossed his head high in the air. 

‘‘You don’t know Kitty,” he said. ” Nobody does as well as 1 
do.” 

“ So you won’t give me that bit of paper?” said Mrs. Vivien, as 
they reached the road, and a clatter of approaching hoofs threatened 
to disturb their tete d-tete. 

‘‘ No! I’ll keep it for the present.” 

A moment later and Mallinger Dashw'ood came into view, splashed 
and miry, as one who had ridden in hot haste. 

‘‘ ]V[y dear lady,” he cried, at sight of her, and without noticing 
Stonnonth, ‘‘ what has happened? I missed you and rode back at 
once; but 1 see you have been taken good care of,” and he bowled 
to .lack, as a stranger, then recognition seemed to quicken in his 
eyes, and he said, ” Mr. Stonnonth?” 

.lack nodded, and, raising his hat to Mrs. Vivien, walked aw\ay. 

The situation had a touch of the grotesque in it, and j\lrs. Vivien 
laughed. 

You had met before?” said Dashwood, arguing quite wronglv 
from her mirth, and with a curidus sense of relief. 


rorxD OUT. 


03 


“ Why not?” she said, preserving her gay nonchalant bearing, 
“ and of course 1 am interested in him as your daughter’s suitor.” 

” An unacceptable one,” said Dash wood, carelessly. 

” You prefer Mr. Phtz — 1 mean Mr. Velasquez?” 

“ 1 prefer neither. Shall vre turn homeward now? You can not 
be very comfortable in that saddle?” 

“It is as comfortable as an arm-chair.” She leaned over, and 
patted the glossy neck of the magnificent horse, that, while all fire 
with his master, now carried her with the gentleness of a lamb. 

” Dear Dashwood,” she said, ” why should not your daughter 
and Mr, Stormontb marry? Slie will never love any oilier man. 
She is like her father — faithful.” 

” A bad complaint,” he said, as he opened a gate with his whip 
for her to pass through. 

” But it is worse for the woman than the man,” said Mrs. Vivien, 
bitterly, when he had joined her. ‘‘ Perhaps her faithfulness is the 
one thing in her life, and to a man it is only one of many, and re- 
curring only by fits and starts,” 

” Y"ou should not quarrel with a uifin’s idea of it,” he said; 
‘‘ you, who have had so much — and not by fits and starts. There 
is poor Noll—” 

” Oh! Noll!” she said. “ fie is a spaniel — with a spaniel’s at- 
tributes.” 

” Y'et as you value faithfulness so much,” said Dashwood, dryl}-, 
” you should value him.” 

” 1 do not want it,” she cried passional el 3^; ‘‘ I want love — love, 
your love, Dashwood, and 3’ou will irot give it me!” 

“ You are my dearest friend,” he said, lifting lier hand to his 
lips. ” 1 am loo old for love now.” 

” No, no,” she cried, and drew his palm upward until it touched 
her cheek, down which the tears were falling. “You loved me 
once— 1 could make you love me again . . . and 3'ou w'ould 

Wget your Tita.” 

“ He knew that she was not acting now; that, however she might 
have schemed, and finesse to get him in her power, it had been 
solely because she loved him, not that she might work him harm. 
And yet a woman scorned is a dangerous thing, and he must dis- 
possess hei of all such power, no matter howq tor in his opinimi the 
end justified the means. 

“Alice,” he said, and her heart leaped (it was five years now 
since he had called her hy that name), “ if you still honor me with 
your affection you have latel}^ taken a strange way ot showing it.” 

The grave voice, so unlike his usual satirical polished tones, the 
kindled glance ot the habitually cold c.ves, moved her more power- 
fully than a declaration of love from his lips could have done; she 
bent hei head lower over his hand, and her tears fell on it like rain. 

She had not taken into consideration the frightful disaavantage 
under which a woman labors when she sits down to play a game at 
skill with the man whom she passionately loves; yet even while she 
laid her weapons down she felt a trembling happiness to which her 
worldly heart had never before been sensible. 

“ 1 will tell you the truth,” she said, almost below her breath, as 
the horses went at a foot-pace along the uneven lane, with the 


64 


POrXD OUT. 


ragged hedges, upon which patches of snow still lingered, shutting 
them in. “1 was struck by something in your face when you met 
Mr. Velasquez, and by something in his manner wheu the story of 
the tencing-room was told in the drawing-room one evening. You 
had been cold to me, colder than usual, and 1 longed to make you 
feel my power, and at the masked ball 1 hazarded wild guesses, 
trying to produce an effect upon you, but it was by accident more 
than intent that 1 got into the fencing-room that night.” 

She paused, and Dash wood’s right hand closed on his whip and 
reins like a vise. 

“ 1 heard it all,” she said at last, and looking away from him, 
‘‘ all that Mr. Velasquez said to- Mr. Htormonth, and how he was 
sure, and how his mother was sure, that something had passed 
between you and Mr. Fitzhugh in the fencing-room — something 
besides the letter that came to you from the bank.” 

She paused again, not daring to look at the man upon whose honor 
no speck or stain had ever rested, and did not resist when he drew 
his hand out of hers, and let it fall to his side. 

Perhaps she knew that the bitterness of death was in his heart, 
but thought that the fount of love in her own might quench it, for 
love is mighty, and barely sees the obstacles that it hews out of its 
path. Yet she trembled as she said: 

” And 80 1 stole the scrap of paper out of the helmet, after you 
went away.” 

She dared to look at him now, and found that his eyes were 
searching every line of her face; then he said; 

“ And what’ did you lind in it?” 

“ Something that Tita did not write,” said Mrs. Vivien, boldly. 

The shot told; tor a moment a film seemed stretched before the 
eagle eyes turned upon her, then something in her face, a shrink- 
ing, a tremor, fixed his attention, and she knew that she was de- 
ceiving him. 

“ You will repeat to me the exact words of that letter?” he said, 
gently. 

” Ko,” she said, sullenly, ‘‘ 1 will not.” 

For a moment or two he watched the averted profile, then he ac- 
cepted his fate. He knew now that his honor was no longer in the 
hands of a woman who loved him, but probably in those of an 
enemy who was not likely to spare him. 

” Poor Alice!” he said, and smiled. 

Then she knew herself detected, and burst into a passion of tears. 

” Oh! Dashwood,” she said, between her sobs, ” how can I get it 
back? .That wretch stole it from me.” 

” Velasquez?” 

“Ho, it was — ” 

” Don’t tell me,” said Dashwmod, interrupting her; ” but 1 think 
you are mistaken about the contents of that paper. You have not 
read it and 1 have.” 

She did not reply — they were now entering the village that led to 
the Towers, and she had dried her eyes, straightened herself, and 
was as fine and indifferent a lady as ever, before they had gone 
twenty paces further, and if tlie spectacle of a woman on a man’s 


FOUND OUT. Go 

saddle was unusual, why, sue supported the situation with unusual 
grace. 

Jiut when an hour later Jack St or month’s horse ■w\as sent back to 
the Hall, there went with him a letter trom IMallinger Dashwood 
that ran as follows: — 


“ Deaii Mr. Stormonth,— My guest, Mrs. Vivien, would like to 
thank you more fully for your kindness in taking care of her to- 
day; and my ddughter and 1 will be happy to see you at dinner to- 
morrow at eight o’clock, if you will honor us with your company. 

“ Believe me your faithful servant, 

“Mallinger Dashwood.” 


CHAPTER XVlll. 

“ And fair Margaret, and rare Margaret, 

And Margaret o’ veritie, 

Gin e’er j’e love another man. 

Ne’er love him as ye did me.” 

Mary Martin sat knitting in her ingle-nook, the work of the day 
being done, and the laborers abroad, when the tap of a riding- whip 
was heard on the door, and Jack Stormonth came in. 

He looked weary and dispirited, and was splashed with mire, as 
if he had walked far, and the good woman rose in anxiety to meet 
him. 

Is the squire worse, sir?” she said, when she had brought a jug 
of ale and served him. 

” No — but Kitty— Kitty ” (he spoke with intense bitterness) “ is 
as bad as bad can be.” 

‘‘ She is ill. Master Jack?” cried Mary, turning very pale. 

” Oh! yes — as ill as she can be— in her temper, and her manners, 
and her morals; in fact, 1 don’t believe there’s one sound virtuous 
bit of your Miss Kilty left.” 

“ There’s plenty, sir,” said Mary, wrathfully, ” and I won’t hear 
my young lady abused like that. And pray what has she done 
now?” 

” Only thrown me over for Mr. Velasquez,” said Jack, savagely. 
■ ” You mean Mr. Fitzluigh?” said Mary. 

Jack turned a startled gaze on his old friend, and exclaimed: 

‘‘ flow do you know that?”- 

” You can’t rub out Nature’s handwriting,” said Mary, showing 
curious agitation, ” and 1 saw his father’s face too often at the 
Towers not to know this one.” 

” Mary,” said Jack, abruptly, ” you know how Miss Kitty and 1 
loved each other as children long before we understood the feud be- 
tween our families, for Mr. Dashwood was abroad then, and you 
had not the heart to keep us apart; but when he came back, lie sep- 
arated us, but could not hinder our meeting years later, wdien we 
loved, and parted but vowed to keep true to one another.” 

“And she is true now. Master Jack,” said Mary, stoutly, but 
with an anxious look at the haudsome young man who seemed to 
have grown haggard in a day. 


66 


FOUiq"!) OUT. 


“And 1 say that she is not,” he replied, stubbornly; “it is not 
from what 1 have heard to-day, but from her own acts tliat 1 judge 
her. ^Yould you believe it, Mary, that she could cut me before the 
whole field?” , 

“ I'erhaps her father was by, and she daren’t notice you. 

“ Did her father’s presence compel her to dirt — Oh! Heavens! to 
think that she can flirt! — with another man under my very nose!” 

“ All love,” said Mary, nodding. 

“Then I’d rather have her hate,” said Jack, getting up and 
striding about, “ it’s all very well for men to flirt, but I’ll be hanged 
if 1 will let my wife do it.” 

“ She won’t want to,” said Mary, briskly, “ and as to her being 
kind to the poor young man, how do you know that it isn’t just 
pity and no more?” 

‘\AVhy should she pity him?” said Jack shortly, as he came to a 
fnirstop. “ He has every attribute of success. He has influence 
through a great man whose wife has taken him up; he has good 
looks enough to bring any woman to his feet— even my Kitty,” he 
added bitterly: “ he can marry as high as he pleases, and what more 
does he want?” 

“Only his father’s good name, so that he can wear his own,” 
said Mary. 

“And how can he get that?” cried Jack, impatiently, “ he has 
no tacts to go upon— it is all pure guess-work — all except — ” His 
hand involuntarily touched his breast-pocket, and he recommenced 
his stride. 

Mary had laid down her knitting, and her comely face w^as work- 
ing strangelv. 

“ Master Jack,” she said, “ don’t set yourself against him, he is 
your own cousin; and 1 befear me, his father was most grievously 
wronged.” 

“ You mean that his death was brought about by foul means?” 
said Jack, facing round. 

Mary made no answer, but went on knitting, though her hands 
trembled. 

Jack looked at her awhile, then went to her, and took knitting 
and hands into his strong grasp. \Yhat do you know, Mary?” he 
said. “ Though I may hate him — and Ido — 1 would not keep back 
a scrap of evidence that could clear his father’s name. And you’ll 
tell me everything.” I 

Mary looked up at the resolute young face, her mind struggling' 
against him yet. 

“It’s so iong ago,” she said, “nigh upon nineteen and a halt 
years — and 1 haven’t held my peace so long to break it now.” ^ 

Jack let go her hands, fetched a chair, and sat down beside her. 

“ Now, Mary,” he said, “ begin.’- 

“ 1 can’t,” she said in a whisper, “ there’s those living now, that 
would blame me for keeping silence then — and Mr. Dashwood he’d 
turn my master and me out of the farm as soon as look.” 

“ I’here is more than one farm on my father’s estate that you 
shall have when you want it,” said Jack, impatiently, “though 1 
don’t know that what you tell me will go any further, for we want 
facts, not suppositions.” 


I 


FOUND OUT. 07 

Mary sat silenl, winding and unwinding lier ball of wool. 

“Why do yQu want to Know?” she said at last; “ if you clear 
his father, you give him a better chance with Miss Kitty — though 1 
don’t believe he ever had any.” 

“ You have got to tell me, Mary, and you kno.w it,” said Jack, 
“ so the sooner you begin the better,” 

Mary looked halt-feaitully around. The day was closing in, tlie 
blaze from the hearth made the outlook from the windows almost 
dark, and a curious sense of silence reigned in the place. 

” 1 was first maid to Lady Alicia, after Mr. Dashwood brought 
her home from the foreign tour they had taken on their marritiLm. 
She sent her Frenchwoman away, and hired me instead, and 1 was 
quite happy in her service. She was young, gay, beautiful, and she 
loved her husband to her heart’s content, if riot to his. She saw 
no lack in him, and 1 never suspected any, till one day when 1 saw 
him. in the company of Mrs, Fitzhugh. 1 had never seen her before, 
though her husband was constantly at the Towers, but 1 had to at- 
tend my mistress to an archery meeting, and on following her with 
a wrap, 1 lost sight of her, and found myself in a tent where two 
people were standing, my master and Mrs. Fitzhugh. She was so 
beautiful that she took my breath away — and only afterward 1 
seemed to recollect what he was saying. ‘ Tita,’ he said, ‘ can’t we 
be friends?’ 

“ ‘ No,’ she said, and on the moment ray mistress came in, look- 
ing faint and ill. supported by Mr. Fitzhugh, and 1 saw Mrs. Fitz- 
hugh look at her hard, then she went forward quickly, and caught 
her in her arms. It was a long swoon — and 1 managed to get both 
the men away. But wdien it was over, and she had come to life 
again, the two ladies were friends. One was ignorant, and one knew 
— and Mrs, Fitzhugh had the lead, and kept it. She would hav'e 
my mistress go to her house, though she would never set foot in my 
master’s, and 1 used to think Mrs. Dashwood showed little pride in 
going to a place where her husband was not received, and i never 
could think what excuse her friend made to her for not receiving 
him. It was an odd thing to see Mrs, Fitzhugh constantly at the 
Towers, my mistress constantly away with Mrs. Fitzhugh; it seemed 
as if the two ladies were just as fond of each other’s company as the 
two gentlemen were of one another’s, and if people talked and gos- 
siped a bit at the queer terms the families were on, not one of these 
tour seemed to care. And so things went on for close upon a year; 
and when my mistress was not able to go out so much, though she 
begged and prayed Mrs, Fitzhugh to come to the Towers, she could 
never persuade her— but after all Mrs. Fitzhugh did set foot in the 
place— once.” 

jNIary paused, and looked anxiously at the door, as if she expected 
it to open, and admit some one of whom she was afraid. 

” And now. Master Jack, I’m going to tell you something queer 
— and perhaps you’ll piece it together with what followed afterward 
—but perhaps you’ll piece it differently to how 1 did. About a 
week before her confinement, she called me to her one day as 1 sat 
with my sewing in an outer room, and said, ‘Look, Martin! did 
you ever see any one as clever as lam at imitating handwriting?’ 
snd she held up an envelope, with the ink wet, addressed to Mrs. 


G8 


rOUKB OUT. 


Fitzlmgli, that 1 could have sworn was in m}’’ master’s hand. I said, 
‘ Indeed, my lad}'-, no one would have it for yours,’ and she laughed, 
and said, ‘ I can sign checks too, and write Mr. Dashwood’s name at 
the end, so that e7en he can’t tell it from his own signature!’ 1 felt 
uneasy when she said this, and exclaimed, ‘Oh! my lady, that is 
forgery !'^ but she only laughed again, and said, ‘ Why, you stupid 
Mary, your master saw me do it, and of course he toie the checks 
up—’ and she pointed at sonie pieces of pink paper, torn very small, 
that lay in the waste-paper basket. 1 thought no more about it, un- 
til certain things happened that forced me to recollect it. About a 
week after, 1 said, the baby Miss Katharine was born, and the 
mother did well for a few days, then she had some feverish signs, 
and it was on the day that she began to be really ill, that the dread- 
ful thing happened in the fencing-room — but 1 haven’t come to that 
yet. ]\lr. Dash wood had not been up to see her since eleven 
o’clock, and between one and two she sent mo tor him, and 1 went 
down-stairs, and to the library, where the butler said I should find 
him. 

“ 1 knocked gently, and thought he said, ‘ Come in,’ but he did 
not look up as I entered, and as 1 saw he was busy at his writing- 
table, 1 stood still in the background waiting for him to speak, in 
the smoking-room beyond, 1 could see the back of Mr. Fitzhugh’s 
head above his easy-chair, and 1 thought from his attitude that he 
was asleep. 

“ Idy master was sitting sideways to me, and 1 could plainly see 
what he was doing — opening carefully, so as not to tear or deface 
itj a closed letter. lie used a thin ivory paper knife for the pur- 
pose, and wiien it was quite open, betook out a letter that contained 
a pink slip of paper, laid it on the table, and took from beneath the 
blotting-pad another and similar pink slip; this he put inside the let- 
ter, replaced it in the envelope, and fastened it down. The check 
he had removed he placed in his pocket-book. Then he rose and 
moved toward the bell, and at the same moment discovered me. 1 
thought he started, then he.asked my errand, and said he would be 
upstairs directly, and 1 heard the bell ring as i went out. lie came 
up almost immediately, but did not remain long, and having sent 
for the doctor, and reassured her, he went down again, and f)reseutly 
1 saw him walking with Mr. Fitzhugh in the grounds.” 

“ Mary,” said Jack, sternly, ‘‘ why did you not tell all this at the 
inquest?” 

‘‘ 1 wasn’t called as a witness,” she said, trembling, ‘‘ besides 1 
hadn’t put it all together in my mind then; it was only bit by bit 1 
did that— after. Hut you’ll blame me more when you hear the 
rest.” She paused as one who has not courage to continue, and 
her comely face had become very pale when she said: 

‘‘ Early in the afternoon. Lady Alicia got worse, and sent me 
again for my master. Her love for him was so great, that she 
would always have kept him in Her sight if it w’cre possible. 1 felt 
pretty sure of finding them in the fencing-room at their rapier-play, 
so did not go down to inquire, but went straight there, and seeing 
the panel a few inches open, 1 went close to it, meaning to knock at 
it, and call my master. 1 could see in quite plainly, the gentlemen had 
Just stripped to their shirt- sleeves, and Mr. Dash wood wms at that 


FOUND OUT. 


69 


moment stoopin^ej to pick up a lady’s handkerchief of white silk 
with a lar^e scarlet monogram iii the corner. It was not one of my 
mistress’s, I had never seen it before. 1 noticed fliat he picked it 
up awkwardly, and thrust it at once inside the bosom of his shirt 
as he rose, and 1 thought Mr. Fitzhngh looked at him strangely as 
their play began. 1 can’t say*what it was that kept me standing 
there, staring without speaking, but I was just fascinated by the 
two, they made such a splendid pair, and they played so magnifi- 
cently — I’d seen them at it before many a time when 1 was in at- 
tendance on my lady, but 1 never saw them show such skill and fire 
as they showed that day. Suddenly Mr. Fitzhugh stopped, and 
said in a very odd voice, ' You will lend me your handkercliief?’ 
My master gave him his own. ‘ No, the other,’ said Mr. Fitzhngh; 
he spoke in a tone that might have roused any man’s blood. 

“ ‘ One does not part with 2 ^ gage d'amour,’ said my master inso- 
lently, and he smiled. 

“ ‘ You stole it from my wife’s wailing-maid,’ said Mr. Fitzhugli, 
who had gone pale as death. 

“ ‘ No,’ said Mr. Dashwood, ‘ I never steal, from waitin^iaids 
what their mistresses give.’ 

“ ‘On guard!’ cried Mr. Fitzhngh, and rushed at him, ami as 
they thrust fiercely at each otfier, 1 had some wild thought of run- 
ning in betw'een them, but just then I heard the butler’s step ap- 
proaching, and in a panic of fear I got away out of sight, and went 
back to iX)or Lady Alicia. I made some excuse, and then sat down 
like the coward that 1 was, shaking in every limb, and listening 
with all my soul for I did not know what — but I had not to wait 
long. Within a quarter of an hour my master came into the room, 
kissed Lady Alicia, and spoke soothingly to her, but thougli she did 
not see anything amiss, 1 knew by one look at his face that Mr. 
Fitzhugh was dead. He went away presently, and the doctor 
came; be looked as if he had got a shock, and at me as if he wanted 
to know what had happened, but 1 gave no sign then, or at any 
other time, of knowing anything more than what 1 w'as told. My 
mistress grew much worse, and 1 never left her— somehow I had a 
horror of crossing the threshold, and a still greater horror of seeing 
my master cross it again. The nurse was in the next room with the 
baby. She had always disliked me because 1 was not a gossip like 
herself. Late in the afternoon I heard a very quiet knock at the 
door, and 1 found the butler standing outside. He looked pale and 
ill, and his hand trembled as he beckoned me out, and then l)e told 
me that Mr. Fitzhugh had committed suicide in the fencing-room a 
fe^r hours ago. He said that he had gone there with a letter, and 
had found the gentlemen fencing very fiercely, and suspected mis- 
chief, but they paused when he appeared, and he saw his master 
walk to a little distance to read the letter, and he came away. He 
had hardly got to the end of the corridor when he heard liimseit 
suddenly and violently called back, and he rushed into the fencing- 
room just in time to see Mr. Fitzhugh falling to tlie ground, his 
right 'hand grasping the rapier that he had driven through his 
breast.” 

” Hut the butlci on giving his evidence snid there was something 


FOUND OUT. 


70 

white—a letter, lietlioiiglit, pinned by the rapier to his breast," cried 
Jack in great excitement. 

“ And so there *vas/’ said Mary in a very low voice, “ but it was 
gone when the butler came back with help. The banker’s letter 
about the torgery was by his side. Nobody seemed to think much 
of it at the inquiry held on the death, and the butler contradicted 
himelf, and said at last he would not swear to having seen it— he 
was so flustered he might have been mistaken. But, Master Jack,” 
and Mary laid her hand on the young man’s arm, ” if we could see 
that letter, we should find in it the real truth about Mr. Fitzhugh’s 
death.” 

” 1 have it here,” said Jack, and he took out a pocket-book, and 
produced from it a discolored scrap of paper, ” here is the Iasi link 
that completes the chain of evidence against — Kitty’s father.” 

JNlary had fallen back breathless with astonishment at sight of the 
paper, but the sliame and bitterness of his voice moved her power- 
fully, and she said: 

” There’s no dishonor ’ll rest upon her — and who’s to know it ex- 
cept our two selves? 1 guess he's been punished enough, carrying 
about a hell in his heart all these years.” 

” But don’t you see, Mary,” said Jack, impatiently, ” that with 
all this evidence in our hands, it would be most dishonorable both 
lathe dead father, and the living son, not to clear their name from 
the stain that rests on it?” 

‘‘ Oh! Master Jack!” cried Mary in horror, ” you’re not going to 
try and make me tell to other folks what I’ve told you here to- 
night?” 

” 1 think so,” he said, and his handsome face looked very stern 
and pale as he turned it on her; “you shirked your diit}”^ nearly 
tw'cnty years ago. Mar}', but you will have to do it now\” 

” My duty!” cried IMary, angril 3 % ” my duty was to my mistress 
first — the least hint of it might have killed her then.” 

” But she died soon after — why did you not do your duty then?” 

” There was the child,” said Mary, ” why should 1 try and foul 
her name and her father’s, when most likely ’twould only end in my 
muddying myself? Who would have believed me? And Mr. Fi<z- 
huirh d/d kill himself — master had no hand in that— and the man 
was a fool and a cow'ard to go out of the world in a fit of jealous 
madness.” 

” The truth shall be told— it must be told,” said Jack doggedkv, 
” it will be for Mr. A^elasquez to decide wdiether he will publish it 
or not.” 

“And my man wull never forgive me,” said Mary, with bitter 
tears in her eyes,.” and we shall be turned out of here and there’s 
my pretty Mofly— ” 

“ Did you ever tell Martin all this?” said Jack, sharpl 3 ^ 

“ Not 1— not a word of it has ever crossed my lips till to-night.” 

“ He would be the first to bid you speak,” said the young man, 
as he took out his pocket-book to replace the paper. 

“ Let me see it, Master Jack,” she cried, eagerly. “ I’ve guessed 
such many times what could have been in it—” 

“No, Mary,” said .Jack, “i won’t trust it in your hands — but 
I’ll tell you its contents. It is a love-letter from Mrs. Fitzhugh to 


FOUND OUT. 71 

]Vlr. Dashwood, but unless she was the most deceitful woman on 
eaitli, 1 should say this letter was forged.” 

” She write a love. letter to Mm!'’ cried Mary; ” why she came 
to the place where her husband’s dead body lay, and cursed Mr. 
Dashwood, and swore he was a murderer, and she would never rest 
till she’d brought him to justice! The butler said it made his hlood 
run cold to hear her, and then she fell down in a fit on Mr. Fitz- 
hugh’s body, and so the living and the dead were carried back to 
their home together.” 

” It was a foul, cowardly murder," said Jack between his teeth, 

“ and to think that such a man should be father of my good, sweet — 
no, not true Kitty,” he added, as one stabbed ’oy a sudden recoilec- * 
tiou — ” and no doubt now, rather than have his disgrace published 
he will give her to that fellow — and everyone will be satisfied— ex- 
cept me.” 

Mary had long ago ceased to knit, the flame from the hearth 
showed her face to be very pale, and she started violently as at that 
moment a knock w^as heard, and the next moment a dark figure 
gloomed in the doorway— it was Mr. Velasquez. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

‘ Had I but had the wit yestreen 
That I hae coft this day, 

I’d paid my kane seven time to hell. 

Ere you’d been won away 1” 

Mu. Velasquez advanced immediately, and the cheerful blaze of 
the hearth showed that in one hand he carried a bit of white that 
looked like a letter. He bowed gravely to Jack, who did not rise, 
but bowed with equal ceremony in return, then he turned to Mrs. 
Martin, who was standing, and gave her the small twisted-up note, 
liaying, ” Miss Dashwood asked me to deliver this to you.” 

Mary courtesied and went nearer the fire to read it, but her hands 
trembled so violently that she only fumbled with, but did not open 
i\r. The two men looked at one another, then Jack spoke: 

“ You could not have come at a more opportune time,” he said. 
Mr^ Martin and 1 were just talking about you.” 

Mr. Velasquez looked toward the farmer's wife with some - 
haughtiness. 

“lam not aware that my affairs can in any way interest— Mrs. 

Martin.” ^ 

“ On the contrary,” said Jack, carelessly, “ 1 don’t know any one 
who could tell you so much about them. Mary,” he added, “ come 

here.” . , , 

Mary came sullenly, and stood before the twm men wuth the note 
halt untwisted in her hands. 

“ Tell Mr. Velasquez all you have told me.” 

“ I won’t,” said Mary, sitting down with a stubborn look on her 
face as Jack rose. 

“ Then L will take the telling of the story on myself,” said Jack, 

“ and if 1 make any mistakes, you’ll correct me.” 


FOUNT) OUT. 


72 

He turned to Mr. Velasquez, whose features were quite calm, but 
his eyes extraordinarily brit^ht. 

“ Mrs. Martin, sir, was maid to Lady Alicia Dashwood some 
twenty years ago, and became acquainted with the tact that her mis- 
tress could copy her husband’s writing so exactly, that she even 
signed some checks one day with his signature and his knowledge, 
and triumphantly told her maid of it afterward. She pointed to the 
torn pieces in the waste-paper basket, but judging by subsequent 
events one of these checks was— saved. On the clay of the tragedy 
in tiie fencing-room, Mrs. Martin had occasion to go to the library, 
and, herself unobserved, saw Mr. Dashwood unfasten a letter in 
such a way as to leave no signs of its having been opened, take out 
a check, replace it with another, then refasten it, and rise as if to 
dispatch it. Your father, Mr. Fitzhugh, was at the time asleep in 
the next room. It is clear now that Mr. Fitzhugh in writing to his 
wife had inclosed the check actually given by Mr. Dashwood in 
payment for the bit of land for which they had been bargaining, 
and that Mr. Dashwood had substituted for it one of the blank 
checks signed by his wife, that he had filled in the date and amount, 
forged Fitzhugh’s indorsement at the back, then sent it by a mount- 
ed messenger to Mrs. Fitzhugh. Later in the day Mrs. Martin was 
again sent in search of her master, and found him with Mr. Fitz- 
hugh in the fencing-room. Mr. Dashwood was in the act of stoop- 
ing to pick up a lady’s handkerchief, in the corner of which was a 
large monogram in blue—” 

‘‘ in scarlet,” said Mary, curtly. 

“ Then tell that part of the story,” he said, turning on her sharp- 
ly; and startled out of herself, and perhaps seeing that she had gone 
too far to retreat, Mary told it— so far as what she saw and heard 
in the fencing-room was concerned. 

“ Mr. Stornionth can tell you the rest,” she said, in a voice of 
mingled anger and tear as she concluded, ” he knows what’s inside 
that bit of paper — and 1 don’t.” 

Jack explained, then produced the scrap of paper, and handed it 
to Mr. Velasquez. lie saw how the hand of his enemy shook as it 
held the paper, saw that the gaze of the dark eyes fixed upon it 
beheld nothing, and mechanically stretched out his hand for it, 
meaning to read it aloud. 

“ No!" sliouted Velasquez and putting his arm behind his back. 

” Why, damn you, sir,” cried Jack with flashing eyes, what 
more do you want to steal? A dishonorable fellow who comes on 
false pretenses to a house, and tries to seduce from him another 
man’s sweetheart, Jaecause he knows the man she loves is forbidden 
the nlace— ” 

“If she loves him, there is no danger,” interrupted IMr. 
Velasquez, dryly. 

“ Why, he is sneak enough for anything!” concluded Jack 
“ and for my part 1 should love to kick him!” 

‘‘Pray try,” said Mr. Velasquez, grimly. 

‘‘Sir, sir,” cried Mrs. Martin, her own small passions forgotten 
in fear of a conflict of the two men, ” do you know it’s all Mr. 
Stormonth’s doing, and by his forcing me to speak out on your be' 
half, that you’ve heard any bit of the truth this day?” 


FOUND OUT. 


73 

“ Hold your tongue, Mary,'’ said Jack, roiiglilv, “ he shall have 
every chance given him— 1, for one, won’t step in“to hinder him.” 

And lie dashed his hat on liis head, and had crossed the kitchen, 
and was out at the door before Mary had time to draw breath. 

Mr. Velasquez’s eyes followed him, though he did not stir. Since 
last he saw Jack his fgelings and ideas had undergone a thorough 
change. He was not prepared to give up Kitty now— and Kitty’s 
own behavior was the cause. 

He diew his pocket-book from his breast, and slowly, with his 
eyes on Mary, placed the precious scrap of paper inside.it. 

“ Is there any answer to your young lady’s letter?” he said. 

“ No,” she answered, and that was true enough, for she had not 
read it. 

Then he went away, and she knew that he knew her for his 
enemy. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gil Morrice, 

My lady lo’es thee wee! ; 

For the whitest part o’ my body 
Is blacker tlH\n thy heel.” 

” My dear,” whispered Mrs. Vivien in Katharine’s ear iust before 
dinner that nighty “your Jack Stornionth is the most charming 
love-maker that. 1 ever met — no wonder you and poor Nina, with 
hosts of otliers, succumbed to him!” 

“Did you?” said Katharine, too proud to inquire, yet having 
already coupled the simultaneous disappearance of the lady and 
Jack from the hunt. 

“Of course he came to see you,” said Mrs. Vivien, shi ugging her 
shoulders, “ but when he found ,you so taken up with Mr. 
Velasquez, he speedily consoled himself.” 

“ He is more than welcome.” said Katharine, coldly. 

“ But still, my dear, 1 really believe that in his heart he prefers 
you to Nina, or to any of the rest of us who help him to while away 
an idle hour 1” 

“I am honored by his supposed preference,” said Katharine, 
smiling, as she moved away, followed by a dark look from the blue 
eyes that had shed such bitter tears of love and disappointment that 
day. 

No one could accuse Mr. Dashwood’s daughter now of being 
tame and spiritless; the very character of her beauty had changed, 
and she had developed from a contemplative to a brilliant charmer 
with a single bound. What it her cheek were pale, were not her 
smiles all the svreeter? What if her wit were keen, did not the 
softness of her voice make amends? And what if she flirted a 
little— if a woman may be said to flirt, who merely unmasks the 
whole battery of her charms, and lets them play upon all alike with- 
out caring to watch the effect— was not every man there the happier 
for a look, a word, some slight favor bestowed with consummate 
grace? Already the woman suspected her, but she had no idea of 
taking their lovers from them, she gave the greater part of her time 


rOUKD OUT. 


74 

to Mr. Velasquez, and all her thoughts to Jack. It (his form of re- 
prisal on her faithless knight were a cruel one to Mr. Velasquez, she 
did not care, and the fact that (he two men were cousins increased 
her recklessness. She had been wounded tlirough the softest, truest 
depths of her heart, poor, faithful, trusting Kitty! and she had 
openly been stabbed in her pride, and she could not sit down and 
bear her pain patiently, but she must thrust it away from her and 
revenge it, though it recoiled upon her with a deeper anguish than 
before. 

Ana from a woman so proud, so pure, so cold as Kitty, a very 
little encouragement went a long way, and who can blame Velasquez 
it, long accustomed to be adored by women, he misread her, and 
thought that her school-girl fancy for Jack had paled in the dawn 
of a woman’s passion for himself? 

That night, when all the house was silent, he stood alone in his 
chamber, and with a sudden exultant movement of his arms upvvard 
looked straight before him as if he saw something for which he had 
strugj^led hopelessly, and at last won. 

But it was not upon his restored birthright of honor, upon the re- 
moval of the slain from his father’s name, that his thoughts rested; 
it was upon Katharine, radiant, lovely, unfaithful to another man 
so that she iniirht be faithful to him — Katharine, the only- woman 
on earth he had ever loved, and whom he had loved at first sight, 
and would love to the last breath of his body and soul. 

He had been no better than a madman when, in the shock of dis- 
covering her girlish love for Jack, he had resolved to sacrifice 
himself for her, and use whatever power he might have over her 
father to secure her happiness with that young man. To-night the 
virile selfishness in him rose up, and flung all scruples, all self- 
renunciation by, and cried out that iiaving won Kitty’s love he 
would keep it, that having discovered his rights he would use them, 
and that even if she showed some faint relentings toward her former 
lover, he would crush them through her father, by the might of a 
certain scrap of papei that he held in his possession. 

And she did not love him! Had she not during the past few days 
given him enough encouragemeiit to satisfy a bolder man ? Had she 
not at the “ meet ” that morning cut Jack Stormonth more than 
once as coldly, as deliberately, as if she had looked him straight in 
the eyes and turned away? Perhaps she had felt the difterence be- 
tween the love of a boy and the worship of a man, and she liad 
yielded as swiftly to the charm as he had yielded to her. And pray, 
since the world began, was there ever a lover who considered it un- 
natural that his passsion should be reciprocated with the rapidity of 
lightning? 

Poor Stormonth, poor fellow! And he had behaved like a boor, 
and like the beaten man that he knew himself that afternoon. Yet 
he had been honest in telling all he knew to his. cousin’s advantage, 
and honest too in giving his opinion to the reverse. 

“To-morrow,” said Mr. Velasquez as he sat down at the table 
upon which a lamp stood, “ to-morrow shall decide it, and next day 
^Ir. B comes, and for the present I must leave her.” 

He took from his breast a pocket-book, out of which he drew 


FOUND OUT. 


some closely written sheets in the handwriting of his mother. He 
perused them carefully; they ran as follows: — 

“ When Mr. Fitzhugh asked me to marry him, I had tor months 
bePin pursued by the attentions of his friend, Mallinger Dashwood. 
There was no comparison between the men, the one all generosity, 
fire, and honor, passionate to an extreme; the other cold, polished, 
fascinating, with an evil heart that sometimes looked out of his eyes, 
and appalled you. Perhaps he loved me— in a bad man’s life there is 
usually one attachment that at its rise was pure, but there can be no 
purity in the love that persists in its suit when all hope of its hon- 
orable fulfillment is over, and when its declaration becomes a crime. 
I think that some men make love because they happen to be iu the 
mood, and a woman is near; others take a violent fancy, and sicken 
of it as quickly; others, again, sit down deliberately to woo a 
woman, and the more they hate her that she will not yield, the more 
they love her. 

“ It was after my marriage that Mallinger Dashwood began his 
most determined siege, and 1 had to endure it silently, for 1 would 
not betray him to his friend— my husband. We were abroad for two 
years, and no maiter where we w'ent, he was there, but before we 
returned to England, I spoke to him. 

“ ‘ Do not dare to cross the threshold of Queen Una’s Palace 
when we go there,’ 1 said, ‘ or I will tell my husband of every word 
and look you have given me. ’ 

“ He only smiled, and said, as he turned away, ‘ You will 
change,’ but he never came to our house from that day to this, 
though his wife, God bless her! often did. 1 was very happy when 
we settled down in our new home, and my only cause of discontent 
w'as my husband’s constant companionship with Mallinger Dash- 
wood; but as 1 would not receive our neighbor, or even give my 
reasons for disliking him, Fitzhugh became silent on the subject, and 
set down my dislike of him to a young wife’s usual distaste for the 
bachelor friends who take her husband away from her. And yet 
we met, more or less constantly, at other people’s houses, and he 
never ceased, by some sign or look, to remind me that he loved me, 
and that he pitied me. 1 felt the lash of his pity— for 1 knew that, 
however, dear 1 was to Fitzhugh, 1 was powerless to keep him at my 
side when Mallinger Dashwood beckoned, and for many lonely 
days and many lonely nights 1 had to thank the man whose suprem- 
acy of will and charm every one bowed to save myself. 

“ When 1 heard that he was about to marry, i rejoiced, for 1 
thought, ‘He is tired at last.’ But when he brought her home, 
and 1 met her abroad— a fair, fragile, loving creature who clung to 
his arm, and found her heaven in his eyes— 1 knew that he was un- 
changed, and that she would not change him. One day at some 
afiair, he caught me alone, and asked if we might not be friends? 1 
said, ‘ No!’ and just after, his wife came in fainting, and I helued 
to recover her— after that we were friends. 1 never went to her 
house, but she often came to mine, and, though she loved me so 
much, she never had courage to ask me why 1 disliked her husband. 
1 believe she thought 1 was jealous of his influence over Fitzhugh, 
and perhaps she shared in my feelings, since Dashwood in his turn 
was so constantly away from her, and she grudged every hour he 


FOUND OUT. 


passed out of her sight. 1 had one drop of sweet in my cup that 
even Mallinger Dashwood could not imbitter — it was my little son. 
He was two and a half years old when Lady Alicia came to the 
Towers, and we would often play together with him, and months 
later siie would say how she hoped her child would be a boy as 
Mallinger Dashwood wished. I thought then that his character 
might change when he had a child of his own, and that some day 
he and 1 might clasp hands as friends, but the day after his little 
daughter was born, 1 met him accidentally out walking, and he 
never behaved w^orse, oi spoke worse than then. 1 could not go to 
poor Alicia, thouijh 1 soon heard that she had been very ill, and it 
was because 1 was anxious to get news of her, that 1 did not try and 
hinder my husband from riding over to the Towers on the day when 
he met his death. 1 have thought since that my last words prepared 
the weapon that destroyed him, for 1 said, ‘ 1 want some money so 
badly, Fitz; there are the servants and the household bills to pay. 
Have you anything coming in soon?’ 

“ He kissed me and said,^ ‘ Don’t worry, Tita, 1 am selling a bit 
of land to Dashwood, and ho doubt he’ll conclude the purchase this 
afternoon; iUs only a hundred and hfly, but better than nothing?’ 

“ 1 kissed him too before he rode away. O! how cold that kiss 
seemed to me afterward, but 1 was angry with him that he could 
sell a rood of his ground, or take a shilling from Mallinger Dash- 
wood Poor though we might be, we were of the haute noblesse of 
the county, and the Dashwoods were mushrooms of less than a hun- 
dred years’ growth, and in every game of chance, of skill, of 
strength, of loveeyen, noFitzhugh had ever been beaten by a Dash- 
wood. 

“ Only a few hours had elapsed wdien a servant brought mn a 
letter addressed in my husband’s hand, and as 1 opened the envelope 
an inclosure fell out — it was a check. The mere touch of it seemed 
to burn me, I shook it from my knee, and read the letter. There 
w^ere just a few loving lines to say he found Dashwood very lonely 
and that he was going to stay the afternoon, and dine with him, and 
added in a postscript that Lady Alicia was no worse; and just under 
this he had scratched, as if with another pen, ‘ 1 inclose a check — 
get it cashed at once," and 1 1 bought it was just like him to send it 
me at once, not liking me to be worried about money a moment 
longer than he could help. But he did not know how 1 would 
rather have starved than see him sell his land to his friend, and 
when at last 1 picked the check up, 1 would not even look at it, but 
thrust it into my purse, and when my ponies came round, 1 drove 
into the town to the bank, and cashed it. 1 thought the man looked 
oddly at me when he asKed how I would take the money, and 1 said 
mechanically, ‘Notes and gold,’ and when fie said he would give 
me a hundred in gold, 1 stared at him, but he was counting them 
out and presently gave them to me in a bag, with fourteen bank 
notes, and asked me to look them over and see that they were right. 
1 glanced at them, the top note was tor a hundred, the second was 
for a hundred, so was the third— but 1 looked no further, something 
chilled me to the very heart, aud for the first lime 1 felt the icy 
breath of dishonor. 1 gathered up the notes and gold and came 
away, but 1 do not know hew 1 drove home. 1 remember nothing 


FOtJKB OUT. 


•^7 

until 1 found myself sitting by a table upon which I had daslied all 
the money down, and sat staring at it — for my husband’s honor was 
in its midst. He had no land to sell of the value of fifteen hundred 
pounds; with the exception of a few fields that he had inherited 
from his mother he had no power to sell a rood of the ground that he 
called his own. So Mallinger Dash wood must have lent nearly the 
w hole of this money —and a Fitzhugh hud stooped to accept it! On! 
my love, my dear, to think that I could have hated you then— and 
at that very moment you were lying dead, doomed to your death by 
the enemy who alwa 5 ^s called you his friend. I don’t know how 
long it was before people came to me, and told me that he was dead, 
and how he died. 1 think that in my madness of shame for him 1 
was glad at first when they told me; for 1 thought, ‘ He had some 
piide left, and so he died.’ But all at once it came home tome 
that he was dead— that 1 should never see my blue-eyed, bright- 
haired Alan again — and 1 broke away from them all, and I ran or 
stumbled every step of the way to Mallinger Towers with those be- 
hind who could not overtake me, and when I got to the house, I 
bade one of the servants take me to the fencing-room, and he stared, 
but guided me there — and on the ground with a rapier through his 
heart, and his frozen blue eyes looking upward, lay Alan, with a 
dark frown of horror, shame, and agony imprinted on his face. 
By his side stood Mallinger Dasliwmod, looking down on him, but 
as across that body our eyes met, 1 read triumph in his, and some- 
thing devilish, mocking, triumphant — and 1 knew that in some 
hideous unknown way he had brought about my hirsband’s death. 

“Then 1 knelt down and put my arms round the poor clay, 
that lay slanting, with the brigl)t steel of the rapier showing far be- 
liind his back, and 1 put my mouth to his, and 1 swore thatl would 
bring his guilt houie to the man whose will had guided the w'eapon, 
even it his hand had not driven it there. For 1 saw imprinted on 
my husband’s face an expression of unutterable shame and horror, 
and mingling with it a giievoirs look, as if with his last breath he 
reproached some one who had betrayed him —1 have seen sirch a 
look before in a child’s face when it is cruelly wronged, and yet can 
not speak to defend itself — and somehow 1 knew that he had died 
with his faith in me broken, and that the man he called his friend 
had broken it. \ou will sa}’’ he was a coward to die so, but he was 
fiery and passionate, he could not live without honor, he could not 
live without me, and so — he died. 

“ God knows what words 1 said to Mallinger Dashwood then, but 
1 remeniber how he looked, and how my curses beat against him, 
and recoiled as if from stone, and then an awful sense of his im- 
placable power seized me, and 1 fell down with my arms round that 
poor nrurdered body, and so, locked together, we were carried away 
from the house. VVhen I came to my senses 1 was still beside him, 
but they had washed and stretched my bonny love, my bridegroom, 
only they could not smooth out tlie expression stamped on his face, 
or hide the rift that yawned in his side. ISfight and day 1 was with 
him. and sometimes fell into an exhausted sleep, with my head upon 
his- breast; but whenever I was not thinking of the days that had 
gone by, 1 was struggling to find out some way by which 1 could 
discover the real truth as' to how and why he died. A sufficient rea- 


FOUND out. 


78 

son seemed to be found when my fi tends came to me, and told me 
that the signature to the check 1 had cashed by his desire was a 
forgery, and that he had forged it. They gave me all the details, 
and the servant’s evidence. Do you think that for one moment 1 
listened to or believed it? Did 1 not know that his dead hand was 
as clean as mine, and that in life it was incapable of such a deed? 
They did not understand my Alan— and I laughed at them, and 
they went away saying that I was mad, and how it was Mullinger 
Dasliwood who had been wronged, not my husband. When they 
had all gone, 1 knelt down besfde liim, and twined his cold hand 
round my neck, and 1 whispered to him; ‘ Love, husband, can’t you 
tell me, can’t you give me a clewv’ But 1 got no answer, oulj’^ 1 
thought that grievous look of betrayal grew fainter as I gazed at 
him, and the fancy seized me that perhaps, in some other state of 
existence, he knew, and that when 1 went to him, he would come 
to meet me, knowing me for his true, his faithful Tita — but though 
lie could not speak, something seemed to pass from his dead heart 
to my living one as 1 pressed it against his breast, and as it took 
form and shape 1 thought I saw enacted before me the following 
scene: 

“ Two men were fencing in a room lined with magnificent armor, 
fencing with fury, though the buttons on their foils showed that 
they had commenced to play for amusement only. The}’’ paused as 
a'servant entered, and delivered to one of them a letter which he 
read with his back to his adversary, but when he turned, it was 
with a look of pointed significance, and an evil sneer curled his 
mouth as he thrust the letter into his breast, and took up his rapier 
to resume the game. I saw the second man stride forward, and with 
threatening gestures demand the letter. 1 saw the first hesitate, and 
fall back as if lie simulated fear, but he offered no resistance wdien 
the other snatched from his breast the letter, and, rapier still in hand, 
read it. 1 saw a mortal change ovei spread his face, I saw a woman’s 
writing, my own, on the page before him, then, without a word, 
without moving a step from where he stood, he ran the letter through 
his rapier, and the rapier through his heart — and died. 

•If * * * * * 

“ I came out of my trance almost as cold and stiff as the dead in 
my arms, but with every detail of the scene stamped upon my 
brain, and by an effort of will, 1 can at any moment recall it, like 
any other event that 1 have actually witnessed. 

“ Did any one hearken to me when I cried aloud for vengeance 
on that innocent blood? Was 1 reckoned anything but a mad- 
woman when 1 accciised Malinger Dasliwood of substituting an- 
other letter — a letter forged in my handwriting — tor the one that 
had come fiom the bank, and that my husband never saw? No! 1 
was only a degree less infamous than my husband, and in one 
respect more infamous still, since by my accusations I revealed 
the fact that Malinger Dashwood had been my lover, both 
before and since my marriage. Not a woman in the county but 
believed 1 must have given nim some encouragement for the guilty 
suit that I published; not a man but reckoned the name of Alan 
Fitzhugh a hopelessly stained one, and that for him it were better 
to be dead than living. 1 could make no fight against his enemy. 


FOUND OUT. 


79 


1 could only rail like a woman in the teeth of evidence that all 
others accepted, nor could even construe into guilt a letter that I re- 
ceived from him before Heft Queen Una’s Palace — a letter in which 
he asked me to be his wife. Tlie poor Alicia was dead, leaving her 
little baby behind her, and I had wept for her the tears that 1 could 
not shed above my dead sweetheart. 1 tore the letter in two halves, 
and sent it back to him, 1 refused to look upon his face when he 
tried to force himself upon me, but I grew nervous at last, and re- 
solved' to go away, somewhere that he could not find me, or per- 
secute me with his hateful love. 

“ My lawyer pitied me, while he despised my illusions, and 
privately found a tenant for Queen Una’s Palace, and a quiet home 
abroad for my boy and me, to which we went in secret, under my 
mother’s maiden name of Velasquez. Have 1 said but little of my 
boy, my Tito, his father’s likeness in height and strength, in feature 
even, save that he had my dark coloring, and hair and eyes? It is 
not that I did not love him at that dreadful time, but that 1 loved 
his father more, and even now when 1 write of these things, my 
blood burns, my limbs tremble, I see once more the tragedy in the 
fencing-room, 1 am torn again by the fierce longing to clear my 
darling’s name in the eyes of those who believed in his guilt, arid to 
bring home his dealh to the man who caused it. If the letter is in 
existence, it would prove much, but to obtain possession of that 
letter is as unlikely as that Mallinger Dash wood still possesses it. 

“ Let me confess here that one mad, sinful way of arriving at the 
truth did, in the earlier days of my wu'clowhooil, suggest itself to 
me. 1 would accept his suit, simulate love for him, then, when he 
was weak as water in my hands, 1 would draw from him the whole 
story and betray him. But such desperate counsel soon left me, 
and in the training up of my young son, in watching over his child- 
hood, his youth, and early manhood, much of the bitterness hns 
been washed out of my heart, and my lips now would refuse to 
utter the curses that I once poured out upon the murderer of my 


husband.” 

* 


* * * * * 


The page ended there: on the other side were some lines in fresher 
ink, thk had apparently been added recently: 

“ My son has obtained the post of private secretary, or rather one 

of the secretaries, to Mr. B . The great man brought his wife 

here to drink the waters, she took a fancy to Tito, and t:ie thing wms 
done. He has left me often before, so why do 1 trouble at his leav- 
ing me now? It is because he will probably meet Mallinger Dash- 

wood in ]Mr. B ’s circle, may even go with Mr. B to stay at 

the Towers, as 1 find the two men are on terms of intimacy; he 
may even stand in the room where his father died, and have at his 
very elbow the evidence that might clear that father, j'^et I expect 
nothing from his discoveries, but'some harm done to his future when 
Mallinger Dash wood sees in him Alan Fiizhugh’s son.” 

* -Jr * * * * * 

Here the entries ceased, but beneath the sheets was a letter, dated 
only the week previously. 

” My son,” it said, ” you know the secret of the sliding panel m 
the fencing-room— 1 told you of it before you left me, as long ago 


.80 


rOUND OUT. 


3’^our fatlier toM me — go there as soon as possible, and look inside 
the helms above the mantel-shelf. In a dream last night 1 saw 
Mallinffer Dashwood stand before one of them, and draw from it a 
discolored piece of paper that he read, and presently replaced. In 
dream 1 saw the handwriting — it was mine in appearance, but 
it was a forgery. 

“ 1 can not remain here in suspense, and to-morrow 1 set out for 
London, and will write you my address from there.” 

Here the letter ended abruptly, the characters of the writing had 
become shaky and confused. Mr. Velasquez folded the sheets, and 
laid them down. Then he drew from his breast-pocket a scrap of 
paper, discolored in its center, but with ceitain characters on if 
easily legible, They ran as folio ivs: 

“ 1 can endure this existence no longer. 1 am sick of keeping up 
in public the pretense of hating you, and some day 1 shall betray 
myself, and that poor hoodwinked fool of mine will kill us both — 
before we have been happy. Vou liave often prayed me to go away 
with you — 1 will go. hleet me at the usual place at six o’clock to- 
morrow morning, and we will settle everything. Your Tita.” 

“And could my father,” thought Velasquez, “a most true and 
honorable gentleman, believe that my mother wrote that infamous 
letter? Would not a moment’s reflection have convinced him of 
such impossibility, had not Dashwood ’s face, with its devilish sug- 
gestions, its jeering triumph, seconded with hideous force the words 
that he saw traced by her hand? What wonder if, in that blinding 
moment of betrayal by wife and friend, his great heart broke, his 
wits left him, and, stunned, contused, with only one sense, and that 
of dishonor, he turned his weapon against his breast, escaping, by the 
only gate open to him, from his intolerable disgrace! And yet it he 
had kept his head, it he had gone straight to my mother with the 
letter in his hand, Dashwood must have been revealed, and his last 
desperate stake lost; but no doubt he had reckoned on the fiery 
temperament of the Fitzhughs, and possibly, when he saw my father 
dead at his feet, he anticipated but little difficulty in consoling a 
widow who would shrink from and scorn the man who could com- 
mit a forgery, and take his own life when detected in the crime. 

“It was an extraordinary piece of good fortune tor Mr. Dash- 
wood that his servant should bring the banker's letter to him so 
quickly aftei he had, by the ha ndkei chief, aroused my father’s sus- 
picions, and it was so easy to change it for another ‘that had long 
ago been prepared for such a chance'^as this— and so easy, when my 
father was dead, to lay the blame on the open letter found by his 
side.” 

Mr. Velasquez got up from his chair, and began to walk restlesslv 
to and fro. “ Poor mother!'’ he said at last, “ the fiercest desire, 
the most coveted aim of your life, is granted, is achieved— and yet 
you will have no public triumph, no just revenge, and, instead of 
heaping retribution on your enemy, 1 shall ask you to take to your 
heart your enemy’s daughter. It is possible that you will never 
know the truth, acd yet— is there not something akin to dishonor 


FOUND OUT. 


81 


in snatcluDg love at the cost of a father’s good name? No! for 
there is only one Katharine in the world, and she is worth more 
than ever was paid for a king’s ransom.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

“ Love strikes one hour— LOVE. 

Those never loved, 

VTio dream that they loved— ONCE.” 

Among the heap of letters hy Mallinger Dashwood’s plate at 
breakfast next morning was one addressed in the hand of Mr. Jack 
Stormonth and he read this last, not without a curious glance first 
at his daughter. The letter ran: 

” l)EAit Mr. Dasiiwood, — I am sorry that 1 can not accept your 
invitation for dinner to-morrow night. But 1 shall be obliged if 
you will grant me a tew minutes’ private conversaliou (not with 
reference to Miss Dash wood) at 3 mur own time and place. 

” Believe me, 

” Your faithful servant, 

“ John Stormonth. 

“ Wednesday night.” 

As Mr. Dashwood replaced this letter in its envelope, he hap])ened 
to catch Mr. Velasipicz’s eye, and he considered the young man at- 
tentively. 

There was always an unusual, even ovigiual air about the private 
secretary that not even all the quietude of his perfect breeding could 
efface, but to-day there was a look of power, of supremac}'^ about 
liim, so that a close observer would have said, “ That man has a 
scheme, probably a dangerous one, in his head— and he will win.” 

As the eyes of the two men met, one of those curious chills that 
old wives connect with the footstep gliding across a man’s unmade 
grave, passed over Mr. Dashwood, and he knew that it was beyond 
John Stormonth’s power to aid him now. Ay, but his daughter 
was potent j^'et, and the ghastly shadow that of late had scarcely left 
his elbow stole back a little farther, as certain thoughts passed 
through his brain. 

The great man was expected to return that afternoon for two 
(lays’ stay only, then the party would break up, so far as those 
present were concerned, to be immediately followed by an entirely 
fresh one— with the exception of one of the guests now present at 

the table. But he had not yet been invited to remain, and Mr. B 

w'ould have to be consulted in the matter. 

There was no ” meet ” that day. Some of the men went in for a 
little desultory shooting, others for a game at rackets; others again, 
fatigued by their exploits across country, danced attendance on the 
women, and held skeins of wool, or walked in the grounds— and 
wondered where was Kitty. Mr. Velasquez was visible enough, 
and Mallinger Dashwmod had no fear of her unlawful proximity to 
Jack Stormonth, when he wrote a letter to that young gentleman, 
fixing an appointment with him for the following day: time, tei^ 


l'OUIs"^D OUT. 


o’clock in 1 he evening; place, the fencing-room. Then he sealed 
and dispatched it. but would not go out, because he knew that Mrs. 
Vivien was watching for him, and he could neither be brute enough 
to be rude to her, nor hypocrite enough to pretend to love her. 
There are times when a man passively submits to a woman’s devo- 
tion, and experiences no discorntort from it; there are others when 
it becomes a perpetual blister, and he would eagerly exchange it for 
her hatred. Meanwhile, Katharine, with a heavy heart and angry 
brain, was hastening on foot to her friend Mary, having sent over 
night by Mr. Valesquez the note that announced her coming. The 
way was rough, and somewhat long, but she hurried along it so 
fast that often she stumbled, and more than once she sobbed aloud, 
for there was no one by to hear her. 

Poor Kitty, proud Kitty, wretched Kitty! had any one, she won- 
dered, as heavy a heart as lay in her breast that day? But even at 
her journey’s end she might not ease it, tor Mary’s kitchen was full 
of bustle and work that could not be put by for even the young 
lady, and there was an unwonted shadow on Mary’s forehead, and 
a sharpened, anxious ring in her voice as she met Katharine with a 
courtesy, and a request that she would step into the parlor, where 
she wmuld come to her as soon as possible. But Miss Dashwood re- 
fused to be thus stifled, and went to the dairy instead, where was 
coolness in plenty, and an innocent, sweet smell that refreshed her, 
and sped her memory back to the days — two years ago — when she 
had helped Jack to milk out of one of these very bowls. She took 
up a spoon idly, as if to skim one of those golden surfaces, and as 
she did so, the door opened behind her, and some one came softly in. 

She thought it was Mary, and did not turn her head; but as she 
slipped the spoon beneath the cream, she said, “ Tour Mister Jack 
is a villain, Mary, and I — 1 hate him!” 

Then she drooped the spoon, the better to cover her face with 
her hands, and she did not think it strange, or a liberty on Mary's 
part, when she felt a gentle pat on her shoulder, which, no doubt, 
was meant to convey comfort. But she shook it ofi: nevertheless, 
and tried to catch her voice betw'een her sobs, yet could not for half 
a minute; then she said: 

“ He has been flirting and carrying on— oh! ever since he was 
born — and 1 thought he loved me! And to think of how, for the 
last two years, 1 have never looked at a man— not that there were 
any to look at — only 1 never thought about them, because my eyes 
were so full of Jack! But he shall never know it— 1 will die before 
he shall know it, and I will marry Mr. Velasquez, or Mr. Somebody, 
just to see Imw he will look, and if he will be sOrry— he did not 
look sorrj' 3 ^esterday, only obstinate, and 1 dare say he had got a 
letter that morning from his Nina, hugged up in his breast-pocket — 
and he never did admire dark women till he forgot me!” 

“ 1 don’t now,” said Jack’s own voice in her ear, and then Kitty’s 
heart and sobs stopped together, but only lor a few seconds, then 
she flashed round on him like a fury. 

” How dare you?” she cried, and clinched her slender hand, then 
dropped it, and said haughtily: 

“ Is eavesdropping another of your accomplishments?” 

“ Yes, Miss Kitty, it is,” said Jack, with spirit, ” and you may 


FOUKD OUT. 


thank your stars that 1 am able to bear as well as see, for, if I bad 
^jone by my sight alone in the tencing-room the other night, 1 should 
never have taken the trouble to try and speak to you again.” 

' ‘ It is a trouble I could have dispensed with, sir,” said Kitty, her 
head up, the tears on her cheeks conspicuously visible, “ though it 
matters very little what you say, or what you think,” 

‘‘1 never think much about anything,” said Jack, coolly, “1 
usually act. And 1 can assure you that it is by the merest accident 
1 am at the farm this morning, and only through the officious zeal 
of our kind friend Mary that 1 find myself in your company at this 
moment,” 

” The last unfortunate accident, sir,” said Kitty, with flashing 
eyes, “ is easily mended—” and she moved to p^vss him, but he was 
too quick for her, and retreating to the door set his broad shoulders 
against it, then folded his arms, and looked at her. 

She stood trembling with anger and outraged pride. Ah ! where 
was his trusting, loving Kitty now? What"lo))ks were these dart- 
ing from those eyes but a little while ago so full of love; what 
words were springing lo the lips, that had clung to his but lately 
with such passionate abandonment ot despair? 

She put one slender hand upon her mouth, as if to force back the 
torrent that rose, then said in a low voice that trembled; 

‘‘ 1 am fatly punished for having so far forgotten myself as to 
meet you m a clandestine manner— to come at your bidding not 
once, but twice — like any housemaid, to whom her sweetheart has 
whistled. But, even if 1 had not found out what a — wretch — you 
are, 1 did not intend to meet 3 'ou again, and 1 told my father so.” 

” And so 1 am a wretch,” said Jack, looking at the young lady, 
habited in deep blue velvet and black fur from head to foot, with 
only the bloom and fairness of her face showing out delicately from 
that dari richness of color. 

” And if you had not got a lot of nonsense into your head, you 
still did not mean to meet me again?” 

” That is so,” said Kitty, coldly, ” anil now will you allow me 
to pass? My visit heie this morning was to Mrs. Martin —not to 
Mr. John Stormonth.” 

‘‘ You shall pass. Miss Kitty,” said Jack, doggedly, ‘‘ when you 
have answered me one or two questions— and not before. Are you 
in love with Mr. Velasquez?” 

No answer. Kitty had turned her back, and resumed the spoon 
that she had laid down a few minutes ago. Jack marched up to 
get a look at her face, but she turned it slowl}’^ away, and when he 
came round to the other side, she repeated the maneuver, so that it 
was only by taking her two hands and turning her bodily, that at 
last he forced her to look at him. 

” You are not blushing,” he said, ” so you don’t love him — which 
makes your conduct all the more cold-blootl6d and disgraceful. 
What right have you to make him fall in love with you, and deceive 
him with your fliitatious ways, just because you are jealous of me?” 

‘‘Oh!’' said Kitty, and gasped, “to think that you should have 
become such a ruffian — and to think that 1 lo — oved you once!” 

“ Not half so much as you do now,” said Jack, looking round, 
and spying behind him a wooden chair, upon which he sat down 


POIIKD OUT. 


84 

abruptly, and had snatclied Kitty and got her firmly on his knees, 
before she could draw a breath. 

“Oh! this is downright insult!” cried Kitty, struggling with all 
lier might against the two strong arms that held her, and drawing 
her body back as far as possible trom contact with him. “ I’ll tell 
—I’ll tell my father when 1 get home!” 

“ Do,” he said, “ and Mr. Velasquez loo, if you like. Kow if I 
let go these pretty little fists ” — he stooped and kissed thera^as they 
lay powerless in his grasp — “ what will you do with them?” 

“Beat you.” 

“ Then 1 shall give you a kiss for every blow.” 

He released them as he spoke, but they lay very quiet in Katha- 
rine’s lap, and a furtive smile was beginning to dimple round her 
lips as she met Jack’s eyes. 

“Kilty,” he said gravely, “what has turned you into such an 
abominable flirt?” 

This w’as too much. Kitty bounded on his knee and once more; 
tried to escape. But he held her fast and repeated his question. 

“ How can you have the audacity,'" she said, after a deep-drawn 
sigh of amazement, “ to talk of my flirting— you— the most dis- 
graceful flirt in all your regiment—” 

“That is another pair of shoes,” said Jack, coolly, “but who 
told you that?” 

“ A lady; and 1 know all about your Niua— and you may marry 
her to-morrow it you please.” 

“ Thank you. And whom will you marry?” 

Kitty did not condescend to reply. 

“ But you have notanswered luy question.” 

“ About my being a flirt? 1 suppose 1 was born so. 1 had no 
idea 1 could do it till I tried! But no doubt, with practice, 1 shall 
become nearly as great a proficient as yourself.” 

“ I’ll soon make you forget all such tricks, miss, when you marry 
me. But until then 1 will have you behave yourself, and remember 
that Jack IStormonth expects his sweetheart to behave as well as his 
wife.” 

The stone w'as quite rolled away from Kitty’s heart by now^ She 
could not hide the happiness that breathed through her hazel eyes, 
and the translucent tints of her skin; that played on the mouth, 
tender and fresh as a child’s when the morning sun shines on it. 

Vet her lover did not seek to touch those lovely lips, he even 
seemed to hold her a little further away as he said, with eyes that 
she found stern: 

“ Could you not trust me, Kitty, or at any rate make sure that 
the gossip you had heard w\as truth, before you lowered yourself 
and me, by flirting with Mr. Velasquez?” 

Kitty hung her head, and looked down at the flagged stones at 
their feet. 

“ It was not flirtation— exactly,” she said, her penitent air but a 
thin cloak through which her happiness shone; “ J. liked him from 
the first — and 1 like him now.” 

“ Perhaps you would prefer him to me, miss,” said Jack, giving 
her shoulder a little shake. 

“ lie is better-looking than you are, 1 think,” said Kitty, with a 


FOU^STD OUT. 


85 


glance over Jack, meant to be judicial, " and then he is never rude 
— like you — and he doesn’t flirt, so far as 1 knoio, with anybodv 
but me?” 

“Indeed,” said Jack, with a ferocious sneer, “I’m much 
obliged to him tor condescending io flirt with my property, but if I 
catch him at it after to-day. I’ll break every bone in his skin,” 

“ Perhaps Miss Nina has some kind friend who will perform the 
same office by you,” said Kitty, “ And pray, sir, don’t 3 'ou call it 
a very wrong, a very wicked thing to win a young Amman’s allec- 
tions, when you are engaged to quite another person?” 

. “ Not halt so bad as for an engaged woman to flirt,” said Jack, 
with decision; “ and now listen to me, Kitty, and then put all that 
nonsense out of your Head forever, Nina and 1 are very good 
friends — but no more, and whoever has been making mischmf about 
her is some tattling toad who likes Mr. Velasquez belter than she 
likes me.” 

“ Oh!’' said Kitj^, with a long, soft sigh, “ and did you ever — 
ever kiss her?” 

“No.” 

“ And did she ever — kiss you?” 

“ Girls don’t kiss men without encouragement, Kitty!” 

“ And did you never — encourage her?” 

“ Now, Kitty — you know my sex is so much more honorable in 
matters of that sort than yours!” 

She looked at him sidewa 3 "s, like a pretty inquisitive bird, but 
there was anxiety too in the glance, and he caught it. 

“ Kitt 3 ’-,” he said, “it ymu ask me if 1 haven’t looked at girls, 1 
have — but as to loving ’em, 1 always said, ‘ There’s my Kitty.’ ” 

“ Oh!” cried Kitty, “ you can speak of them m the plural!” 

“ And I’ve kept you in my heart,” went on Jack stolidly, “ and 
kept that as clean as 1 could for your sake.” 

“ Did either of them ever — ever sit on 3 ’’our knee?” 

“Why?” 

“ Because 1 could never sit there again, you know, if she had!” 

“Couldn’t you?” said Jack, “but Pd make you. And pray, 
did Mr, Velasquez ever kiss you?” 

“ Oh, Jack!” she said, and shrunk back with so hurt and shamed 
a face, that he implored her to forgive him, and by way of testing 
the purity of those lips, seized them hinaself, and so with their 
arras round one another, they were for a brief space in heaven, and 
might have remained there some precious moments longer, had not 
the door opened,, and showed Mr. Velasquez standing on the 
threshold. 


CIIAPIEII XXll. 

“ ‘ Fight on, my men,’ Sir Andrew saj'S, 

‘ A little I’m liurt, but not j^et slain; 

I’ll lie clown and bleed awhile, 

And then I’ll rise and flght again.' ” 

]p the outside of a dairy-door could speak, and chronicle its im- 
])ressions of a human face, it would have said that no such happy, 
brilliant, successful an one had approached it these twenty years 


POUKD OUT. 


86 

as that ot Mr. Velasquez. Mary Martin herself had guided him 
part of the way to her young lady, and with bitter satisfaction — 
left him. But 1 think no young man ot three and-twenty, how- 
ever old tor his years, can behold unmoved the spectacle of’ his 
beloved, safe and happy in another man’s arms, especially when he 
was on the point ot securing her in his own. So Mr. Velasquez 
stood there, looking with all the color and life djdng out ot his 
face, and Katharine, after one brief glance at him, hid her face in 
Jack’s shoulder. 

“ Good-morning,” said Jack, dryly, ”1 can’t get up to shake 
hands, but you understand that 1 bear you no malice.” 

Mr. Velasquez had advanced a step or two, the door was closed 
behind him. In the cold morning light his dark face showed the 
hue of ashes, above which his eyes blazed like coals a-fire. He was 
n.)t looking at Jack, but at the back ot a hazel-colored head, and 
his glance too included the sweep of two arms that inclosed, with- 
out throttling, a beloved neck. 

‘‘Katharine Dashwood,” he said, and at this familiar unusual 
address, the girl started, and halt showed a lovely profile, ” it you 
loved tiiis man, why did you pretend to love me?” 

Then Kitty w’ould have arisen in her wrath, and without the 
gliost ot a blush about her, had not Jack held her as in a vise, but 
she found voice to say: 

‘‘ 1 never pretended— you know that 1 never loved an 3 ^body but 
—Mr. Stormonth.” 

If the situation were ridiculous, 1 don’t think either of the three 
persons concerned in it felt themselves so, and while Kilty, like 
auy other shame-faced woman who knows herselt in the wrong, 
clung to Jack as her natural refuge, Mr. Velasquez seemed oblivi- 
ous of pots and pans as he looked at his rival. 

‘‘1 think, sir,” said Jack, politely, ‘‘that you hnvQ — }<foIen, 
about as much as you have a right to expect. No doubt you will 
retain the document — but 5 mur dishonest intentions ou the lady are 
balked.” But Kitty’s sense of justice was stabbed by this, and 
she got free of Jack suddenly, and turned with tlaming face to j\lr. 
Velasquez, then bowed her head as one ashamed. 

‘‘ It is all my fault,” she said, ‘‘ 1 liked you— alwmys— from the 
very first— and when 1—1 got jealous— 1, 1 thought 1 liked you' 
better!” 

Mr. Velasquez laughed, and his laugh was not. pleasant to the 
ear. All the bitterness ot his overshadowed youth, all the silent 
suiiering of an inherited disgrace, stirred in him now, and turned 
his nature to gall, as he looked iu Kitty’s eyes and knew himself 
betrayed. 

Perhaps he was not in his right mind then, or a devil entered into 
it, and swayed him, tor when he turned away from her, and went 
out, he had made his resolve. 

It was a very pale face that Kitty turned on her lover as the door 
closed. 

” What is he going to do?” she said in a whisper. 

Jack looked grave, and evidently other things besides his courtship 
were iu his mind. 


FOUND OUT. 


► 


87 


“ Kitty,” be said, standing up, ” do you know that 1 have re- 
fused an invitation to dine with you to morrow evening?” 

Kitty opened her lips, but astonishment, and some remaining 
fright, kept her dumb. 

” But 1 shall be in the fencing-room at rather a late hour.” 

“ And 1 can not meet you there. Jack,” she said, sadly. 

‘‘ 1 don’t expect you,” he said, ” 1 go there to meet jour father.” 

Kitty drew a quick breath, and Jack’s arm went round her in case 
of her needing support. 

“ Jack,” she whispered, ” what does he want with you? Don’t 
trust yourself with him— and if you must be there, wlw 1 will be 
there too!” " 

j ” I’ou can’t, Kitty,” he said, and a dark shadow fell on his 
usually bright face, ” there is men’s work to be done between him 
and me lo-night.” 

Kitty’s pliant body seemed to stiffen and grow cold as she drew 
herself away from Jack. “ Won’t you tell me, dear?” she said. 

. ” No,” he said, ” when we are married, perhaps — but not now. 
He has been very cruel to us. Kilty, and only because my mother 
was a Fitzhugh— though 1 think he would give you to Mr. Velas- 
quez if he asked for you to-night.” 

” He might give me,” cried Kitty, with eyes that lightened only 
to be drowned in tears, “ but I would defy Mr. Velasquez to take 
me.” 

“Ilesha’n’t,” said Jack, forgetting everything as he looked at 
her, but that here was a princess whom true love had turned into a 
timid loving child. 

‘‘ You might tell me,” she said, but offered him no bribe, though 
that mattered little, as he was one of that bold order of lovers who 
Know how to seize, better than to sue. 

” Miss Katharine!’ said a sharp voice from the door, and IVIaiy 
Martin came slowly in. 

Her usually fresh face was pale, her eyes told of a sleepless night, 
and there was a nervous tremor in the usuall}^ firm hands as she 
approached the ymmg pair. 

” Master Jack,” she said, ‘‘ I’ve not told my man yel — and 1 dis- 
like the thought of turning out of tlie farm where I’ve lived over 
seventeen year — and you can stop Mr, Velasquez if you please, 
though there was murder in his face when he went out. It can’t 
do him any good, nor ,you and Miss Kitty, to rake up by-gones, and 
1 wish my tongue had'been struck dumb in my head before 1 spoke 
to things that I knew.” 

” Did you have any talk with him this morning?” said Jack, 
looking at her keenly. 

‘‘Not I, sir; when he said he wanted some private words with 
me, 1 just brought him straight to the dairy ,'and said I’d join him — 
and to guess by his face, you gave him words enough, for all the 
short time he was here.” 

” ]Mary,” said Kitty, and put her arm round the comely shoulders, 
and kissed the anxious face, ” I don’t know wiiat secrets jmu and 
Master Jack have got, but don’t 5^011 fret—we’ll take care of you.” 

” Of course,” said Jack, heartily, and kissed Mary too, yet shy 


88 


FOUKD OUT. 


was only half comforted when Kitty thought of the time, and all 
unwillingly, but in a fever to go. 

“ What is the hour to-night, Jack?” she said; but Jack would 
not tell her. And so, by perpetually prolonged farewells they 
parted, and she went, light as a feather, along the way tiiat she had 
traversed so painfully a Jew days before. 

Who would seek to weed out Iloi^e from a human heart? But if 
you eradicated it thoroughly, you would leave no heart behind. 


% CIIAPTEK XXIII. 

“ We conldna f>:ie Sir .James’s pui*se, 

We coiiMna liis breehan, 

' But ye sail hae his bleeding lieart, . 

Blit andliis bleeding tartan.” 

Tue great man arrived in time for dinner that night, and while 
revolving his campaign among adjacent dairy-maids for the morrow, 
consoled himself with the company of halt-dressed aristocrats for 
the present. He found time for a few instructions to Mr. Velasquez, 
then dropped his intellect, and skipped about like any Jack o’ 
Ijantcin among the ” Merry Wives orWindsor.” But, late as Mr. 
Velasquez’s duties as seeretary kept him, he had done some other 
correspondence more weighty to himself previously, and he had 
ridden far to register it. Maij" Martin’s confession, w’ritten from 
memory, and the letter forged in liis mother’s name, had swelled 
the bulk of his packet, and now he left things to chance, and at 
dinner was nearly as bright and brilliant as Katharine herself. It 
they werif^ilaced far apaiJ, no one remarked the accident save i\lrs. 
Vivien, who had heightened her bloom b}”^ rouge, and her eyes by 
belladonna j^et had no charm to summon up a smile to the lips that 
were usually so triumi)hantly fresh. 

‘‘ Where have you been all the morning?” she said, addressing 
IMr. Velasquez, adding, with a glance at Katharine, ‘‘ 1 mean where 
have you both been?” 

” In each other’s company tor about sixty seconds,” replied Mr. 
Velasquez. 

The woman turned and looked at the man, but for once her sex 
was beaten, and only an impenetrable obstinacy met her gaze. 

” flow like you are to your cousin!” she said, and then his feat- 
ures seemed to break up, like the facets on a diamond stone. 

‘‘ How much you know',” he said, and for a moment he seemed 
to feel tw'O fair, helpless-looking hands at his breast pocket — hands 
that his manhood forbade him to bruise, but he knew that there 
was nothing left to steal now. 

‘‘ About everything,” she said, ‘‘ except your relations with Mr. 
Jack Stormonth. ” 

Mr. Velasquez glanced across at Katharine. She W'aa looking at 
him with that pleading sad look which a woman will sometimes 
address to an outraged lover wdio has possessed her mind but not 
her heart, and w'hom she has unconsciously betrayed. 

” What are you going to do?” said ]\lrs. Vivien, and he felt as if 
a snake had reared itself at his elbow, and poisoned his thoughts. 


i’OUKD OUT. 


89 


“ 1 am goini^ to mind my own business,” he said, in so pleasant 
a voice that it made no discordant echo on the hum ot talk that 
went on around, 

” And will your business be that of Katharine Dash wood?” said 
Mrs. Vivien, in the same key. 

” That is between ourselves,” he replied. 

“And Jack Storn-onth stands mid'wa 7 in the path,” said Mrs, 
Vivien. 

” And can be removed,” said Mr. Velasquez, his glance traveling 
along the pure white of the table, until it reached his host. Per- 
haps ills eyes expressed what his tongue had refused to utter, but 
there was a look ot menace, of pow'er in them that a^rtled Mrs. 
Vivien, and set her heart throbbing with anxiety tor D^hwood. 

What could she dp for him? By a fatal accident her trump card 
had been snatched from her, and she suspected that it was now in 
the hands of Mr. Velasquez. Were not the two men cousins, and 
if Jack were so sure ot his Kitty, might he not, in mere justice, clear 
dishonor from the name — his own mother’s name — of Fitzhugh? 

Yet, if Nemesis were sitting at Mallinger Dashwood’s board, the 
latter showed no sign ot recognizing that gruesome face, and never 
had his table shone more brightly wutli wit and beauty, never had 
he appreciated more fully his power in being able to beckon to bin 
such guests, as perhaps he had never excelled himself more brilliant- 
ly as host. 

Katharine thought his glance at her kinder than usual, but was 
racked with doubts as to his business on the morrow with Jack, and 
tormented by fear of danger to that young man from ]\lr. Velasquez. 
(She got no word with the latter that evening until the party broke 
up, when she wished him good-night; he replied, th(^ touched 
hands, and parted. She knew then that her sin towai* him was 
unforgivable, that whatever he had set liis hand to do he would do 
it, and that her influence over him now was in the proportion to 
thistledown pressing against iron. 

When the last guest had left the drawing-room Katharine ap- 
proached her father, and said: 

” I met Mr. Stormonth by accident at Mary ]\Iartin’s this morn- 
ing, and he told me that he had an appointment with you in this 
h()use to-morrow night.” 

She was looking at her father, and she saw how every vestige of 
color left his face, though the expression of it did not change in the 
least, and his voice w^as as usual when he said: 

” Did he tell upon wdiat business?” 

“ No. But you mean him no harm, father?” said the girl, wist- 
fully. 

” Perhaps he means more to me.” said Mr. Dash wood, with a 
slight shrug of the shoulders, perfectly master of himself, but with 
an odd look that in some vague wav presaged disaster. 

” Father,” she said, ” he is my friend, and so he must be yours, 
and 1 know he never meant you any harm— nor ever will.” 

We shall see,” said Mr. Dashwood, and dismissed the subject 
and his daughter at the same moment. Left alone, he glanced 
cynically round the beautiful room, then said aloud: 

” And to-morrow— to-morrow?” 


90 


FOUNT) OUT. 


He did not answer liis own question, but then he had not an- 
swered his daughter’s. Perhaps both would have answered them- 
selves by that hour of the clock next day. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ * Nay, then,’ said the Lord Percy, 

’I told it thee beforne, 

Tliat I would never yielded be 
To no man of a woman born.’ ” 

It being fhe last day of their visit to Mr. Hashwod, some of the 
guests atle(rtbcl a little sadness at breakfast, whicli was a quiet one, 
though brightened by the men’s scarlet, for everybody meant to 
hunt. 

“ There’s a dreadful monotony about the country,” whispered 
Lord Noll to Mrs. Vivien, ‘‘ town will be heaven after this.” 

‘‘Speak for yourself,” she said, sharply, and exchanged a look 
with Mr. Dash wood that poor Noll intercepted, and in one smart 
scourging stroke got his lesson, and accepted it. If a remorseful 
thought crossed her minci of how she was throwing away the sub- 
stance for the shadow, she did not show it, she had no ej’^es now for 
any man save the one whom she had every reason to despise and 
hate, but whom she— loved. 

How swiftly passed that day, but with how little incident to 
mark it out as anything uncommon to those for whom the drama 
would close that night! There was nothing odd in Mr. Velasquez 
coming back early, and finding a telegram on his dressing-table, 
and nothing odd too in his changing his clothes, and going out 
again, returning just in time for dinner. 

To Katharine his appearance in the drawing-room was an intense 
relief, as she was nearly certain that from a distance in the hunting- 
field she had seen him in conversation with Jack Stormontb, and 
she dreaded some quarrel and subsequent encounter between the 
two men. 

But, though she watched him covertly throughout dinner she 
could gather nothing from his expression, and to an outside ob- 
server, even to the servants (our keenest detectives) nothing ap- 
peared to ruflle the ordinary, sparkling surface of the evening, nor' 
did any one present find it extraordinary that at dessert Mallinger 
Dashwood should rise, saying that he had an appointment which 
w’ould onl}’’ detain him a very short time, so that he would return 
almost immediately. 

If Katharine turned paler than she had been all day no one heeded 
it, not even Mr. Velasquez, whose eyes went to the clock, where 
the hands pointed exacily to the hour fixed for Jack Storraonth’s 
interview with the master of the house. 

Some of the ladies wondered why Katharine lingered so long over 

her fruit, yet conversed so little with Mr. B ; perhaps one or two 

smiled when, on Mr. Velasquez rising, she rose also and, hurryin/j 
after, was yet not able to overtake him. 

In the great hall she turned, as he was turning, not toward the 
drawing-room, but toward the billiard-room, and entrance to the 
house, and followed him. 


FOUND OUT. 


91 


Mrs. Vivien, who happened to be nearest to her, followed also, 
and this bold example of curiosity beinj; set, all the other ladies 
followed in their turn, so that it was a loht:: and brilliant queue that 
spread out behind the handsome young man who strode on till he 
had reached the great door, which with masterful hand he un- 
fastened, and set it wide. 

There entered immediately a woman, to be recognized instantly 
as Mr. Velasquez’s mot|j^er. 1 don’t know if she were so very beau- 
tiful, but she had that quality of distinction wdiicli makes a glance 
from one woman’s eyes an honor, while the ogle of another is not 
worth returning. 

‘'Come, mother,” said the young man, and took her hand and 
led her past Katharine and the women, who were beginning to 
shiver as the cold air rushed through the open door, and to wonder 
why this untimely visitor ignored the mistress of the house, and 
why Mr. Velasquez did not introduce her. 

For a moment or two the girl stood looking after the two retreat- 
ing figures, then, like an automaton, she moved after them, and 
glidine up the staircase was lost to sight. Mrs. Vivien vanished in 
her wake, and Lady Becky, who had a keen sense ot the ridiculous, 
burst out laughing, and suggested that, as all the rest seemed to be 
playing the game of ” follow my neighbor,” they had better do the 
same. And she suited the word to the deed. No servants had ap- 
peared upon the scene; the voices ot the men came faintly from the 
dining-room, as not expecting much fun, but moved by that spirit 
of curiosity which would draw a female barefoot over red-hot coals 
if anything she wanted to see w^ere beyond, the women caufrht up 
their trains, and fled after Lady Becky as fast as their legs would 
carry them. 

Mrs. Vivien had been quick, but not quick enough; the last fold 
of her dress whisking round a corner betrayed her; but Lady Becky, 
and some of those behind, felt a little dismay on perceiving the di- 
rection she had taken, and half inclined to turn back from those 
dark coriidois in one ot which the fencing-room was situated. 

But somehow they fell that something uncanny was abroad that 
night, that strange events were about to occur, so they took boldly 
the plunge into darkness close upon the cheerful click of Lady 
Becky’s heels, and were rewarded by seeing a gleam of light in the 
distance— a gleam that came from the open space where a panel had 
been but a few moments ago. 

It was only when they had scampered to, and reached it, that a 
momentary doubt crossed their leader’s mind as to the good taste 
of her curiosity; but it was too late now to retreat, for those (crowd- 
ing behind pushed her over the threshold, pushed her past the two 
women who had first arrived, and who feared to advance, so that, 
like a flock of gayly plumaged birds, they fluttered into the room, 
and into the presence of a scene quiet indeed throughout, but terri- 
ble to look upon and remember, to each one’s dying day. 

Jilallinger Dashwood was standing by the mantel-piece, the strong 
light of a lamp turned on his lace and on that of the woman who 
stood at a little distance, and who was speaking to him. 

A little behind her stood Mr. Velasquez, and further away, on the 
opposite side of the room. Jack Stormonth, wjro stepped forward 


92 


roujsi) OUT. 


•witli a gesture of anger as the bnre-neckcd, jewel-decked intruders 
swept in, but when he moved as if to expel them, Dashwood with 
a gesture ot the hand eliccked him. 

Let them stay,” he said, but he did not even glance in their di- 
rection, nor did Tita, as with cloak slipped to her feei, and veil 
thrown back, she stood drawn up to her fullest height, ay, almost 
to the height of him. 

” And now it is brought home to 3^11,” site said; “ the truth has 
come to light at last; the long-buried crime that you hid beneath 
yonr cloak of honor, the crime you believed it beyond human 
power to prove, has risen up against you, and. is 'proven. In my 
band I hold the letter, forged by you in my handwriting, which 
compelled Alan Fitzhugh to his death, the letter in which 1 im- 
plied a guilty intimac.y with jmu, in which 1 asked 3mu to elope with 
me, and which drove him mad. That forged letter you gave to him 
in this room— and he ran it through his heart and died. You tore 
it from the rapier — see, the tear is here, and the slain too, and you 
foully lied when 3mu swore that you had given him the banker’s 
letter containing the forged check — he never beheld it, and you 
knew that your signature to it had been forged by the innocent 
hand of 3mur wife.” 

Mallinger Dashwood started slightly; it was the first sign of emo- 
tion he had shown since Tita entered. 

“ There is a woman living who will come forward as witness, to 
swear that she saw some ot the checks that your wife, y>roud of be- 
ing able so exactly to imitate your Inandwriting, signed in your pres- 
ence; one ot those checks 3mu kept, perhaps with no intention of 
putting it to such deadly use as you subsequently did, but when he 
opportunity came, you used it. 

” My husband came here one day and sold you a piece of laud. 
You paid him for. it wdth a check for £150; he inclosed it in a let- 
ter to me, and having left it in the librar3%to be dispatched, he went 
into the adjoining room and sat down with his back to the library, 
and probably read, or possibly he fell asleep. Your wife’s maid, 
going in search ot yon shortly afterw’ard, saw you therself unper- 
ceived) carefull3’’ untasterr my husband’s letter, saw you take out 
the check, and substitute for it another. That other was the check 
for £1500, that 1 cashed a little later, and about which the banker 
w’rote to 3mii, as he had subsequent doubts of the genuineness of 
the signature. And you swore that you taxed Alan Fitzhugh wuth 
the forgery, that he admitted it, and that, when he implored your 
mercy (good God! mercy from a Dashwood to a Fitzhugh!), and 
for a moment you hesitated, in a tit of despair he seized his rapier, 
and, unable to support his dishonor, slew^ himself. 

“ So much you swore at the inquiry held on his death, and you 
sw'ore that the signature wuis not yours — you were too proud a gen- 
tleman to lie on that point, but not too proud to forge his indorse- 
ment 011^ the back of the check, and to fill in the"^ dates and the 
amount in as different a hantl as iK)ssible to .your usual one— 3^011 
were not too inoud to let the innocent liand of your wife brand a 
man w^ith a lilelong dishonor, even it he had elected to survive that 
dishonor. Perhaps you did not mean him to kill himself, you in- 
tended only to disgrace him in the eyes of the world, and in my 


F0UN1> OUT. 


93 


eyes, that 1 should turn from him in loathing, and that then 1 
siiould turn to 5mu.” 

“ 1 did inter d it,” said Mallinger Dash wood, deliberately. 

” Yo'\i !'" Hitherto Tita’s voice had been.elear and even, but now 
it swelled out with all the pent-up scorn and hatred of over twenty 
years. ‘‘ You! 1 would rather have become wife to the meanest 
groom in my stables than to have endured the touch of your hand 
upon mine! to have been forced to breathe the air ot heaven by your 
side! No one will ever love you as women loved Alan Fitzhugh,' 
for your heart is black to the core, and his was white as snow.” j 

” There is one,” cried a voice; and from out that crowd by the 
door there stepped a woman, who crossed the floor with hasty stej), 
and, sinking down on her knees by Dasliwood’s side, seized his 
hand and buried her face in it. i 

For a moment Tita looked down at the abased figure, at the glori- 
ous hair, at the white shoulder that gleamed out of the heavy folds 
of satin that swept the floor; then she said, ” !So there is left to you, 
all dishonored as you are, and no longer secretly, but as you shall 
be in the full blaze of the world — there is left to you this consola- 
tion — that, murderer, forger, liar that you are, one poor woman 
can find it in her heart to— love you!” 

Dashwood had not stirred beneath that clasp on his hand, but 
now he shook it ofi:, made a stride forward, snatched lita in his 
arms, and kissed her on the mouth with ail the balked passion, the 
longing of half a life-time, strangling by mere force the shriek that 
rose to her lips. Then he let her go, and stepping back swift as 
light, took from the wall a rapier stained with rust and blood, and, 
before any could move or himler him, he had turned the point to his 
breast, and driven it home with unerring skill, saying as he did so, 
” 1 have kissed you, Tita,” and, with liis eyes upon hers fell dead 
at her feet. 

******* 

They sa}^ that, on a certain night of the year, those who have 
courage to hide in the great fire-place of the fencing-room will see 
a strange sh^ht. The moonlight, glinting here and there on the walls 
of armor, will glint also on two men engaged in rapier-play, that 
■vvaxes fiercer and fiercer till seemingly they are interrupted from 
without, when the light fades, and when next the two men are seen 
face to face, one of them holds in his hand a letter. By gesture the 
other demands it, is refused, but snatches and reads it— then ail 
grows dim, but when again the moonbeams play upon the spot, they 
show a dead man with a letter pinned by a rapier to his breast. 
Anon the room is empty, but there is a broad stain ui)on the floor, 
and it is brown with age, and now the walls are dim with dust. 
But see, whose is that shape jmuder that moves forward, a w'oman 
clinging to his hand? He shakes her from him, and snatching a 
rusty rapier from the wall thrusts it through his heart, and falls! 

And now all is dark again, save that the light falls upon the spot 
where the fresh blood has washed out the stain of the old. 


TUE END. 


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86 Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 20 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

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88 The Privateersman. By Cap- 

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89 The Red Eric. By R. AI. Ballan- 

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91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

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96 Erling the Bold. Bj" R. AI. Bal- 

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97 All in a Garden Fair. By Walter 

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98 A Woman-Hater. By Charles 

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99 Barbara’s History. By Amelia 

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107 Dombey and Son. By Charles 

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110 Under the Red Flag. By Miss 

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115 Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

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116 Moths. By“Ouida” 20 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 

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118 Loys, Lord Borresford. and Eric 

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119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

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120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

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121 Maid of Athens. By Justin Mc- 

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122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn 

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123 Sweet is True Love. By “ The 

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124 Three Feathers. By William 

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125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 

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126 Kihneny. By William Black. . . 20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches. 

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131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

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132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

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135 A Great Heiress. By R. E. Fran- 

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136 “ That Last Rehearsal.” By 

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137 Uncle Jack. By AValter Besant 10 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

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143 One False, Both Fair. J. B. 

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144 Promises of Marriage. By 

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145 ” Storm-Beaten God and The 

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146 Love Finds the Way. By Walter 

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147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trol- 

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148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

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149 The Captain’s Daughter. From 

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150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. 

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152 The Uncommercial Traveler. 

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153 The Golden Calf. By MissM. E. 

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155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

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156 “ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

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164 Leila ; or. The Siege of Grenada. 

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165 The History of Henry Esmond. 

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166 Moonshine and Marguerites. By 

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167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

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168 No Thoroughfare. By Charles 

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169 The Haunted Man. By Charles 

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170 A Great Treason. By Mary 

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171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

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172 “ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir. 20 

173 The Foreigners. By Eleanor C. 

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174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge.. 20 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and Other 

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176 An April Day. By Philippa P. 

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177 Salem Chapel. By Mrg.Oliphant 20 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 

of a Li fe in the Highlands. By 
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179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

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180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. 

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181 The New Abelard. By Robert 

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182 The Millionaire. A Novel 20 




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184 Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris. 20 

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187 The Midnight Sun. ByFredrika 

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188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate. Mrs. Alexander 6 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 

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191 Harry Lorrequer. By (harles 

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192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

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193 The Rosary Folk. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far 1” By 

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195 “ The Way of the World.” ^By 

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196 Hidden Perils. ‘ By Mary Cecil 

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209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

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214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 

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215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

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216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 15 

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220 Which Loved Him Best? B.y 

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222 The Sun-Maid. By Miss Grant 15 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart. By W. 

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224 The Arundel Motto. Mary Cecil 

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225 The Giant’s Robe. ByF. Anstey 15 

226 Fi'ieudship. By “ Ouida ” 20 

227 Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton. 15 

228 Princess Napraxine. By “ Oui- 

da” 20 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

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230 Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

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232 Love and Moue.y; or, A Perilous 

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239 Signa. By “ Ouida ” 20 

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241 The Baby’s Grandmother. By 

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253 The Amazon. By Carl Vosmaer 10 

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255 The Mystery. By Mrs. Henry 

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256 Mr. Smith: A Part of His Life. 

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257 Be.yond Recall. By. Adeline Ser- 

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258 Cousins. By L. B. Walford 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. (A 

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Dumas ; 10 

2G0 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 A Fair M.'vid. By F. W. Robinson 20 

262 The Coi.nt of Monte-Cristo. 

Parti By Alexander Dumas 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part II. By Alexander Dumas 20 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 


Braddou 15 

264 Piddouche, A French Detective. 

By Fortune Du Boisgobey 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures. 

By William Black 15 

266 The Water-Babies. AFa?ir 3 'TaIe 

for a Land-Baby. By the Rev. 
Charles Kingsley 10 

267 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 

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268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or. The 

Miser’s Treasure. By Mrs. 
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269 Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part I. 

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271 The Jlysteries of Paris. Part I. 

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272 The IJttle Savage. By Captain 

Marry at 10 

273 Love and MiragO ; or, The Wait- 

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Betham Edwards 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

Princess of Great Britain and 
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and Letters 10 

275 The Three Brides. Charlotte M, 

Yonge 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 

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cis Lean) 10 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 

Mrs. Henry' Wood. A Man of 
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278 For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 

279 Little Goldie. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 

den 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Dlrs. Forrester 10 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 15 

282 Donal Grant. By George Mac- 

Donald 15 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime. By the 

author of Dora Thorne ”... 10 

284 Doris. By “ The Duchess ” 10 


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285 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

286 Deldee ; or, The Iron Hand. By 

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287 At War With Herself. By'^ the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”. . . 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By 

the author of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 

True Light. By a “ Brutal 


Saxon ” 10 

290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

291 Love's Warfare. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

292 A Golden Heart. By' the author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

294 Hilda. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 1C 

295 A Woman’s War. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

297 Hilary’s Foll.v. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

298 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 

ret Veley 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea. By the author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

301 Dark Days. By' Hugh Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

Hugh Conway 10 

303 Ingfedew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By' the author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream. By the au- 
thor of “Dora Thorne” 10 

.306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 
Day'. By the author of “ Dora 

^ Thorne ” 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 
Love. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

308"Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper. 20 

310 The Prairie. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

311 Two 'Years Before the Mast. By 

R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

312 A Week inKillarney. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

313 The Lover’s Creed. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 15 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill — 20 

315 The IMistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

316 Sworn to Silence ; or. Aline Rod- 

ney’s Secret. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller -20 


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317 By Mead and Stream. Charles 

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318 The rioneers; or, The Sources 

of the Susquehanna. By J. 
F(Miimore Cooper 20 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10 
820 A Bit of Human Nature. By 
David Cliristie Murray 10 

321 The Prodigals ; And Their In- 

heritance. By JIrs. Oliphant 10 

322 A AVomau’s Love-Story 10 

323 A AVillful Maid 20 

824 In Luck at La.st. By Walter 

Besant TO 

325 The Portent. By George Mac- 

donald 10 

326 Phantasies. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. By 
George Macdonald 10 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 

the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina T3*rrell 20 

328 Babiole, tlie Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du BoiSgobey. First half. 20 
328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. Bj’’ 

F. Du Boisgobey. Second half 20 

320 The Polish Jew. B3’'Erckmaun- 


Chatrian 10 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. B3’^ Margaret Lee 20 

831 Gerald. B3’ Eleanor C. Price.. 20 

332 Judith AA’'yhne. A Novel 20 

333 Frank Fairlegh ; or, Scenes 

from the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. By 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The AVhite Witch. A Novel.. . . 20 

336 Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 

Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
Including Some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 
Mrs. Oliphant 20 

838 The Family Difficulty. By Sarah 

Doudne5’. ' 10 

839 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander 10 

340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

ton Reade 20 

341 Madoliu Rivers; or. The Little 

Beaut5' of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 20 

842 The Bal^v, and One New Year’s 

Eve. By “The Duchess” 10 

843 The Talk of the Town. By 

James Payn 20 

344 “ The AVearing of the Green.” 

By Basil 20 

845 Mada.m. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

346 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir 10 

347 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

Vince 20 


348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

Romance. B3’ Hawley Smart 20 


NO. riauJi. 

349 The Two Admirals. A Tale of 

the Sea. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

350 Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

351 The House on the Moor. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

3.52 At Any Cost. By Edward Gar- 
rett 10 

353 The Black Dwarf, and A Leg- 

end of Alontrose. By Sir AVal- 
ter Scott 20 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

of New^ York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 

355 That Terrible Man. By AA^. E. 

Norris. The Princess Dngo- 
mar of Poland. By Heinrich 
Felbermann 10 

356 A Good Hater. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

357 John. A Love Story. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

358 AVithin the Clasp. By J. Ber- 

wick Harw’ood 20 

359 The AVatei’-AVitch. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 20 

361 The Rod Rover. A Tale of the 

Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

362 The Bride of Lammermoor. 

By Sir AA’^alter Scott 20 

363 The Surgeon’s Daughter. By 

Sir AA^alter Scott 10 

364 Castle Dangerous. BySir AVal- 

ter Scott 10 

365 George Christy; or. The Fort- 

unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 
Pastor 20 

366 The Mysterious Hunter; or, . 

The Man of Death. Bj’ Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 


867 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20 

368 The Southern Star ; or. The Dia- 

mond Land. By Jules A^erne 20 

369 Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 

phry AVard lO 

370 LucyCrofton. By Mrs. 01ii)hant 10 

371 Margaret Maitland. By Mi-s. Oli- 

phant 20 

372 Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 

thor of “ His A’V'edded AAHfe ”, 10 

373 AAHng-and-W’^ing. J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

374 The Dead Man’s Secret: or. The 

Adventures of a Medical Stu- 
dent. By Dr. Jupiter Paeon.. 20 

375 A Ride to Khiva. By Capt. Fred 

BurnabJ^ of the Royal Horse 


Guards 20 

376 The Crime of Christmas-Day. 

By the author of “ My Duc- 
ats and Aly Daughter 10 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story 

of the Scottish Reformation. 

By Mrs. Oliphant. 20 


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878 Homeward Bound; or, THe 

Chase. J. Fenimore Cooper. . 20 

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880 Wyandotte; or. The Hutteid 

Knoll. J. Fenimore Cooper. . 20 

881 The Red Cat diual. By Frances 

Elliot 10 

882 Three Sisters; or, Sketches of 

a Highly Original Family. 

By Elsa D’Esterre-Keeling. .. 10 

883 Introduced to Society. By Ham* 

ilton Aid6 10 

884 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor. Capt. Fred Burnaby. 20 
B85 The Headsman ; or, The Abbaye 
des Vignerons. By J. Feni- 


more Cooper 20 

886 Led Astray ;-or, “La Petite Comt- 

esse.” By Octave Feuillet... 10 

887 The Secret of the Cliffs. By 

Charlotte French 20 

888 Addle’s Husband; or, Through 

Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of ” Love or Lands?” 10 

889 Ichabod. By Bertha Thomas... 10 

890 Mildred Trevanion. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

891 The Heart of Mid-Lothian. By,„ 

Sir Walter Scott ' 20 

892 Peveril of thePeak. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 20 

893 The Pirate. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

894 The Bravo, fey J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

895 The Archipelago on Fire. By 

Jules Verne 10 

896 Robert Ord’s Atonement. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey 20 

897 Lionel Lincoln ; or. The Leaguer 

of Boston. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

898 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. 

By Robert Buchanan 10 

899 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee.. 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

401 Waver ley. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

402 Lilliesleaf; or. Passages in the 

Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunnyside. By Mrs. 


Oliphant 20 

403 An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 

ridge 20 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories. By ” The Duchess 20 


NO. PRICK- 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. By Sam- 

uel Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

409 Roy’s VTfe. By G. J. Whyte- 

Melville 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 10 

<1^1 A Bitter Atonement. By Char- 
lotte M. Biaeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

412 Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 
Fenimore Cooper. 20 

415 1 he Ways of the Hour. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

417 The Fair Blaid of Perth ; or, St, 

Valentine’s Da 3 ^ BySirWal- 
ter Scott -20 

418 St. Ronan's Well. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 20 

419 The Chainbearer : or, 'J he Little- 

Mge Manuscripts. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

420 Satanstoe; or, The Littlepage 

Manuscripts. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of The Littlepage Manu- 
scripts. J. Fenimore^Cooper 20 

422 Precaution. J.Fenimore Cooper 20 

423 The Sea-Lions; or, The Lost 

Sealers. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 


Voyage to Cathay. Bj* J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

4^ The Oak Openings ; or. The Bee- 
Hunter. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

426 Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 

worth Taylor 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bait.. M.P., 
formerly known as ” Tommy 
Upmore.” R. D. Blackmore. 20 

428 Z^iro ; A Story of Monte Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell Fraed 10 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 


ORMI^ARY ERITION. 


GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

(P.O.Box 3761.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by the 
publisher. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 

30 Her Dearest Foe . 20 

36 The Wooing O’t 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

532 Maid, W’ife, or Widow 10 

1231 The Freres .' 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

1721 The Executor 20 

1934 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

13 A Princess of Thule 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton 10 

61 Kilmeuj 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


53 The Monarch of Mincing Lane 10 

79 Madcap Violet (small type) 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type) 20 

242 The Three Feathers 10 

390 Tlie Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena, 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

568 Green Pastures and Piccadilly 10 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times ; 20 

1025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

1264 Mr, Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
ures 20 

MISS M. E. BRA.DDON’S WORKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Levels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit 20 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

469 Rupert Godwin r - ,..2-0 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRART.— Ordinary Editwn. 


481 Vixen 20 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

500 Joshua Haggal-d’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainslelgh 20 

701 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel .' 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Ro 3 ’^al 20 

1469 Flofver and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 20 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) * 20 

162 Shirley 20 

311 The Professor- p) 


THE SEASIDE LIBEARY. — Ordinai'y Edition. 


329 Wuthering Heights 10 

438 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life 10 

. 552 Love at Saratoga 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande. 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls 20 

1019 His First Love 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

1192 Vendetta; or. The Southern Heiress 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

1810 Married for Money (illustrated ) 20 

1829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine ; or. Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek 20 

76 The New Magdalen • 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name ,20- 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel ' 10 

433 A Shocking Story 10 

487 A Rogue’s Uife 10 


THE SEASIDE LIB R ART. —Ordinary FAiivon. 


551 The Yellow Mask 10 

683 Fallen Leaves 20 

654 Poor Miss Finch 20 

675 The Moonstone 20 

696 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles * 10 

905 Duel in Herne Wood 10 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The Black Robe 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shot 10 

1856 “I Say No” 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WORKS. 

222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer 20 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The Pioneers 20 

231 The Prairie 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water Witch 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing-and-Wing 20 

940 The Spy 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afioat and Ashore 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman ; or. The Abbaye des Vignerons 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or, Tbe Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine 20 

1691 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific 20 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Bhop 20 

100 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

10^ Kara Time?, JO 


THE SEASIDE LlBTtAUY. — Ordinary Edition. 


118 Great Expectations 20 

187 David Copperfield 20 

200 Nicholas Nickleby 20 

213 Barnaby Budge 20 

218 Dombey and Son 20 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins) 10 

247 Martin Chuzzlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christmas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Man 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

352 Pickwick Papers 20 

359 Somebody’s Luggage. 10 

367 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

e372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction 10 

403 Tom Tiddler’s Ground ' 10 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

625 Sketches by Boz 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

827 The Mudfog Papers, &c. 10 

860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child’s History of England. 20 

1464 The Picnic Papers 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF “DORA THORNE.” 

449 More Bitter than Death 10 

618 Madolin’s Lover 20 

656 A Golden Dawn 10 

678 A Dead Heart 10 

718 Lord Lynne’s Choice; or, True Love Never Runs Smooth. 10 

746 Which Loved Him Best 20 

846 Dora Thorne 20 

9^1 At War with Herself 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBItARY.— Ch‘di')iary Edition. 


931 The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

1013 Lady Gwendoline’s Dream v 10 

1018 Wife in Name Only 20 

1044 Like No Other Love 10 

1060 A Woman’s War 10 

1072 Hilary’s Folly 10 

1074 A Queen Amongst Women l(j 

1077 A Gilded Sin 10 

1081 A Bridge of Love 10 

1085 The Fatal Lilies 10 

1099 Wedded and Parted 10 

1107 A Bride From the Sea 10 

1110 A Rose in Thorns 10 

1115 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

1122 Redeemed by Love 10 

1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring 10 

1127 Love’s Warfare 20 

1132 Repented at Leisure .* 20 

1179 From Gloom to Sunlight 20 

1209 Hilda 20 

1218 A Golden Heart 20 

1266 Ingledew House 10 

1288 A Broken Wedding-Ring - 20 

1305 Love For a Day; or, Under the Lilacs 10 

1357 The Wife’s Secret 10 

1393 Two Kisses. 10 

1460 Between Two Sinsi 10 

1640 The Cost of Her Love 20 

1664 Romance of a Black Veil 20 

1704 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

1761 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. .... 20 

1844 Fair but False, and The Heiress of Arne 10 

1883 Sunshine and Roses 20 

1906 In Cupid’s Net 10 

ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 

144 The Twin Lieutenants 10 

151 The Russian Gipsy . 10 

155 The Count of {Complete in One Volume) 20 

160 The Black Tulip 10 

167 The Queen's Necklace ^0 


THE SEASIDE LTBUAHY. — Ordinary Edition. 


172 The Chevalier de Maison Rouge 20 

184 The Countess de Cliarny 20 

188 Nanon 10 

193 Joseph Balsarao; or, Memoirs of a Physician 20 

194 The Conspirators 10 

198 Isabel of Bavaria 10 

201 Catherine Blum 10 

223 Beau Tancrede; or, The Marriage Verdict (small type).... 10 

997 Beau Tancrede; or. The Marriage Verdict (large type) 20 

228 The Regent’s Daughter 10 

244 The Three Guardsmen 20 

268 The Forty-five Guardsmen 20 

276 The Page of the Duke of Savoy 10 

278 Six Years Later; or. Taking the Bastile 20 

283 Twenty Years After 20 

298 Captain Paul 10 

306 Three Strong Men 10 

318 Ingenue 10 

331 Adventures of a Marquis. First half 20 

331 Adventures of a Marquis. Second hal f. 20 

342 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. I. (small type) 10 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol I. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris.' Vol. II. (large type) 20 

1565 The ]\Iohicans of Paris. Vol. III. (large type) 20 

1565 The IMohicans of Paris. Vol. IV. (large type) 20 

344 Ascanio 10 

608 The Watclimaker 20 

616 The Two Dianas 20 

622 Andree de Taverney 20 

664 Vicomle de Bragelonne(lst Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Brageloniie (2d Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (3d Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (4th Series) 20 

688 Chicot, the Jester 20 

849 Doctor Basilius 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. 1 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. II 20 

1452 Sah^ator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “ The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. Ill 20 


THE SEASIDE TJDnAnY.— Ordinary Edition. 


1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. IT 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. V 20 

1561 The Corsican Brothers 10 

1592 Marguerite de Valois. An Historical Romance 20 

F. DU BOISGOBEY^S WORKS. 

709 Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq. Part 1 20 

709 Old Age of IMonsieur Lecoq. Part II 20 

1062 The Severed Hand (La Main Coupee) 20 

1123 The Crime of the Opera House. First half 20 

1123 The Crime of the Opera House. Second half 20 

1142 The Golden Tress 20 

1225 The M3'stery of an Omnibus 20 

1241 The Matapan Affair. First half 20 

1241 The Matapan Affair. Second half. . . .• 20 

1307 The Robbery of the Orphans; or, Jean Tourniol’s Inherit- 
ance 20 

1356 The Golden Pig (Le Cochon d’Or). Part 1 20 

1356 The Golden Pig. Part II 20 

1432 His Great Revenge. First half 20 

1432 His Great Revenge. Second half 20 

1465 The Privateersman’s Legacy. First half ... 20 

1465 The Privateersman’s Legacy. Second half . 20 

1481 The Ferry-boat (Le Bac) ; 20 

1534 Satan’s Coach (L’Equipage du Diable). First half 20 

1534 Satan’^ Coach (L’Equipage du Diable). Second half 20 

1550 The Ace of Hearts (L’As de Coeur). First half 20 

1550 The Ace of Hearts (L’As de Coeur). Second half 20 

1602 Marie-Rose; or, The Mystery. First half 20 

1602 Marie Rose; or, The Mystery. Second half 20 

1717 Sealed Lips 20 

1742 The Coral Pin 30 

1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. First half 20 

1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. Second half 20 

1799 The Steel Necklace 20 

1800 Bertha’s Secret. First half 20 

1800 Bertha’^Secret. Second half 20 

1841 Merindol 20 

1842 The Iron Mask. First half 20 


iHE seaside LIBKAnr.—Orditu,',^ Ed%tim. 

- - ; ^ ,. — M , „i, 1^.,, ,.^x 

1842 The Iron Mask. Second half 2ii 

1874 Piedouche, a French Detective 20 

1885 The Sculptor’s Daughter. First half. 20 

1885 The Sculptor’s Daughter. Second half 20 

1886 Zenobie Capitaine. First half 20 

1886 Zenobie Capitaine. Second half 20 

1925 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. First half 20 

EMILE GABORIaU’S WORKS. 

408 File No. 113 20 

465 Monsieur Lecoq. First half 20 

465 Monsieur Lecoq. Second half 20 

476 The Slaves of Paris. First half 20 

476 The Slaves of Paris. Second half 20 

490 Marriage at a Venture 10 

494 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

501 Other People’s Money 20 

509 Within an Inch of His Life 20 

515 The Widow Lerouge 20 

523 The Clique of Gold 20 

671 The Count’s Secret. Part 1 20 

671 The Count’s Secret. Part II 20 

704 Captain Contanceau; or, The Volunteers of 1792 10 

741 The Downward Path ; or A House Built on Sand (La De- 

gringolade). Part 1 20 

741 The Downward Path; or, A House Built on Sand (La De- 

gringolade). Part II 20 

758 The Little Old Man of the Batignolles 10 

778 The Men of the Bureau 10 

789 Promises of Marriage •. 10 

813 The 13th Hussars 10 

834 A Thousand Francs Reward 10 

899 Max’s Marriage; or. The Vicomte’s Choice 10 

1184 The Marquise de Brinvilliers 20 

MARY CECIL HAY’S WORKS. 

8 The Arundel Motto 10 

407 The Arundel Motto (in large type). . .' 20 

9 Old Myddelton’s Money . 10 

427 Old Myddelton’s Money (in large type) 20 

17 Hidden Perils ' . . . . 10 


■ imj SEASIDE LmRAnr.—O'idimtry isdituytu 


434 Hiddeu Perils (in large type) c .. oo 26 

23 The bquire’s Legacy 10 

616 The Squire’s Legacy (in large type) .... ^0 

27 Victor and Vanquished - 20 

29 Nora’s Love Test 10 

421 Nora’s Love Test (in large type).. .... .................. 20 

275 A Shadow on the Threshold 10 

363 Reaping the Whirlwind 10 

384 Back to the Old Home 10 

415 A Dark Inheritance 10 

440 The Sorrow of a Secret, and Lady Carmichaei’s Wiii.. . . ... 10 

686 Brenda Yorke 10 

724 For Her Dear Sake 20 

S52 Missing 10 

855 Dolf s Big Brother 10 

930 In the Holidays, and The Name Cut on a Gate 10 

935 Under Life’s Key, and Other Stories 20 

972 Into the Shade, and Other Stories. 20 

toil My First Offer 10 

1014 Told in Nev/ England, and Other Tales 10 

1016 At the Seaside; or, A Sister’s Sacrifice........ 10 

1220 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

1221 Among the Ruins, and Other Stories 10 

1431 “ A Little Aversion ” 10 

1549 Bid Me Discourse 10 

CHARLES LEVER’S WORKS. 

98 Harry Lorrequer *. 20 

132 Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. 20 

137 A Rent in a Cloud 10 

146 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon (Triple Number), .... 30 
152 Arthur O’Leary 20 

168 Con Cregan 20 

169 St. Patrick’s Eve 10 

174 Kate O’Donoghue 20 

257 That Boy of Norcott’s. 10 

296 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” First half 20 

296 Tom Burke of “ Ours. ” Second half. 20 

319 Davenport Dunn. First half 20 

319 Davenport Dunn. Second half 20 

464 Gerald Fitzgerald i 20 


THE 


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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-POOKET EDITION. 


LATEST ISSUES: 


410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oliphant.. 10 

411 A Bitter Atonement. By Cliarlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

412 Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to “Afloat 

and Ashore.”) J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper , 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef. By 

J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

418 St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

419 The Chaiubearer; or. The LitMepage 

Manuscripts. J, Fenimore Cooper. 20 

420 Satanstoe; or, The Littlepaere Manu- 

scripts. By J. Fenimore Cooper. . . 20 


421 The Redskins; or, Indian and Injin.. 

Being the conclusion of The Little- 
page Manuscripts. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper S 

422 Precaution. By J. Fenimore Cooper S 

429 Boulderstone; or. New Men and Old 

Populations. By William Sime 1 

430 A Bitter Reckoning. By the author 

of “ By Ci’ooked Paths ” 1 

432 The Witch’s Head. By H. Rider Hag- 

gard S 

433 My Sister Kate. By Charlotte M. 

Braeme, author of “ Dora Thorne,” 
and A I^iny June. By“Ouida”.. 1 

434 Wyllard’s Weird. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon S 

438 Found Out. By Helen B. Mathers... 1 


P 


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